Feeling scratchy and out of sorts, an emotion I trace, oddly, to Pico Iyer's The Open Road, talking about the Dalai Lama. There's no logic to this, just as there's no logic to the mental muzak being stuck on Night Moves. Usually the mental muzak bears some relation to the happenings in my life: as for instance, when I used to CPR and Amtrak it down to New York, having Phil Collins stuck in my head:
So you're leaving In the morning On the early train...
or Springsteen's Independence Day last winter when next door was moving out. Bob Seger, I just don't know.
Newest mask arrived, is wearable. Roasted a chicken with dressing and then ate the veg I made with it instead. Otherwise, meh.