It's after a softball game we forfeited to Grace but then played anyway, scrimmage-style, borrowing a couple of their players. I forewent post-game ice cream at Washtenaw Dairy with the few teammates going and came to sit in the a/c here at the library for a bit, to emerge from the sun coma. I've got stuff on my mind, and/but that mind's dopey. And I'm hungry. And I need to get to bed at a decent hour.
It's July 22nd, which is an anniversary for me. I probably ought to be doing some private handwritten journaling to observe the occasion properly, but I'm in a post-softball a/c stupor, and there are no paper journals for me here. I've sent my Pocket Planes airplanes off to various cities--- I'm pretty sure I'm converting Lisa Airlines to passengers only as we buy replacement aircraft, to simplify boarding as I save up enough fake money to expand to more cities I like, and maybe someday get a blimp and the space shuttle. My game involves mostly using cities I like, so I have privileges at airports like Reykjavik and Guatemala and Barrow and Helsinki, not a great strategy to get rich quick, but I like "going" to them, flying the weird northern hopscotch jump route (Nuuk!), or cutting through Havana or Monterey but having no stops in Texas or the "regular" South or Arizona.
Shelly downloaded Ingress. Said it looks quite complicated; I said I hear that's part of the appeal. Maybe I'll give it a go, Erika likes it so. I wonder if this burg is all solidly Resistance already.
It's almost postcard poem time again. I remember an airplane one just now.
Supper. Lisa needs supper. And now I'm cold too. It's like the walk-in freezer at old my racetrack job.