"...bought a scarf to replace the one that blew off my neck in Denmark..."

What was the deal with sleep last night and it not ever coming to me? Stupid sleep.

I wish I had made more of yesterday. Looking back, I feel that familiar frustration at having so little to show for the elapsed time. Just a few new pairs of pants and some lipsticks, really. I had a lot of ideas yesterday, though. I had thoughts amok in my mind in full scale melée mode. Riot gear might have been in order. I would be that much less productive had I taken the time to catalogue all that occurred to me. I've stopped carrying around my little notebook for mostly just that reason. So I try to repeat the things I think are worth remembering over and over to myself as I'm driving home or nearing a place where I might have a chance to jot something down. It ends up paralyzing my brain and delivering -- in the manner of that game of telephone -- an often somewhat bald recollection of the actual idea I first had. But it's a good exercise. I catch myself saying, "Remember that, Mary." And then I'm repeating it in my head in three-second intervals. "I'm remembering. I'm remembering. I'm remembering." And then I get to my destination and fail to realize that I've forgotten. And later, when it occurs to me, I can't quite piece it together the way it once was. It's like dreaming awake. Even the part of dreaming where you're convinced you dreamed something important but it turns out to be a confusing, yawn-inducing load of nonsense. I'll try to have an idea today. I hope it's a good one.

Vernon Forrest won his fight last night. We pretended that he was part of our family, just for the hell of it.

The past few days have been stunning. Really beautiful. Sunny and almost too warm for sleeves. Bright. Breezy. Why do I catch myself yearning for the scent of rain?