This Sunday has had two lives. I started out the day at Sarah's place; we resumed our weekend ritual of the Saturday night sleepover. But I was also helping her clean up her apartment in preparation for her mother's visit later this week, and another, new friend's stay, who's coming in for Memorial Day weekend.

I was home by 4. I reestablished my connection with my apartment by doing up some dishes I'd left in the sink on Saturday afternoon; I put away the laundry Sarah very graciously let me do at her place, then I went to the bank to get some cash for the week's bus fare. I ripped a bunch of CDs to the iTunes library; I put a lovely piece of beef in the oven (sprinkled with garlic salt, lightly drizzled with olive oil and balsamic vinegar)and made a spicy curry rice and green beans to accompany it.

I started reading Love Walked In by Marisa de los Santos, and I am enchanted. Devika, you would like this book, I think. The writer understands how language moves, that's apparent. She is a poet with a Ph.D. in literature and creative writing. This is her first novel. I'm actually inclined to write to her and ask where she did her doctorate because that is the exact degree I want to pursue (after the M.A. is done, of course).

So now, half-heartedly watching the Desperate Housewives finale, it occurs to me that something is missing. Another person.