OTOH as long as I'm cleaning mouse poo I needn't assemble my Ikea bookshelves. Don't know when or why Ikea assemblage became as high-anxiety an activity as doing taxes, but it is. I want someone to hold my hand and feed me gin and tonics for both, and there's no one to do that. Maybe I should get married.
And I want *clear* *sharp* pictures of my dragon king writing his report, like Gawain, 'an hour before my death and so subscribed with a portion of my heart's blood.' I do not have them and will not have them until various Kinokuniyas lift, as the Japanese phrase has it, their heavy buttocks. Maybe I should move back to Japan.
(And where's my copy of the Once and Future King when I want it, huh? This is why I can never throw books away, only play musical bookshelves amid the crescendoing anxiety of Too Many Books, Too Little Time, and Too Many Books Still Left To Read Even If I Never Buy Another One.)
