it is dark now and i am that face in the window

it has rained all day. it's beautiful and misty and when i arrived to the cafe where i am now typing this, frizzy and damp-sweatered, the woman behind the counter asked how it was outside, and when i laughingly said that "it's rather wet" and added that i've never owned an umbrella or a raincoat, she congratulated me on being a true seattleite.
i went to bailey-boushay today to have my forearm affirmed for my 2nd negative tb titer. i walked by 24th and union:

i wandered around the facility for a while. the place is fucking fantastic. everyone who works there seems incredibly cool. there is a 'meditation room' (because it's not affiliated with any churchy crap, thank god) where people, residents and staff, can go at any time to decompress:

this is part of the room's window.

i finished mackenzie phillip's autobiography today. it is not a fucking picker-upper. i suppose i am relieved to be so horrified by the reality of addiction- there are some things in the world i simply don't understand. i vowed when i was a teenager that i would never try cocaine, never try speed... the things i suspect would unravel me because i would fucking love them too much. and, to my credit, i never have.
for fuck's sake, i bought stuff from p two months ago and it remains in my kitchen cabinet, ignored, in a jar that once held "seattle mariners extra-fancy tartar sauce". this, however, i attribute more to the fact that he sold me the equivalent of fucking oregano and not because i have suddenly acquired self-restraint.
after finishing the book, my bailey-boushay beatificness devolved somewhat. being flaked on by d, again, hasn't really perked me up either.
to make myself feel happier, i took a picture of an antique vending machine:

yesterday i was slothing around the lair with the pusses. this photograph reminds me that, god damn it, i am one of Those People... people who own plural cats and take pictures of them.

and i love Those Kinds of People, but sometimes i do feel like i am obliviously foraging my own slow, purposeful path to bona fide spinsterhood.
the cats and i were listening to mumiy troll. i first listened to them a few years ago and didn't like them much... generic rock akin to, fuck, the archangels. but some of their songs are okay. and everything sounds much more exotic and sinister when sung in russian.