Knocked Out
While Kathleen ran some errands, I ordered a chef's salad from Burger Heaven. It was huge: tossed, it filled the mixing bowl that I use when I'm making Caesar Salad for four or more. Somehow, I managed to consume most of it. But even before I was finished, I began to feel heavy in my head. Within half an hour, I had changed back into my sleeping shorts and crawled into the bed, which I'd never got round to making because Kathleen took a nap after breakfast. Presently Kathleen came home, and the next thing you know, we were both on the verge of sleep. Now it's ten at night, and I don't know which end is up. Whenever I would come to, awaked by the telephone or by a delivery - five boxes from Fresh Direct had to wait over two hours to be unpacked - I'd be convinced that we were somehow still in Turkey, in an apartment cunningly like our own in New York but not actually the same. I wonder if I'll get to sleep tonight. I know that I needed the rest, and I can tell that it did some good, because almost all of the little ailments that plagued me from Friday until this morning have passed away, leaving only a fading rash: perhaps I did have a staph infection after all.
Of course, I made have been laid low by reentry into the world of current events, from which I took a brief but decided leave while in Istanbul. When Biscuit pointed out earlier today that the Washington Post has contributed $100,000 to the inaugural frolic, I felt that the very air had gone bad. (Biscuit provides a link to the list of power donors - check it out.) I couldn't help thinking about Joseph A. Ashley, the seaman who was killed in the undersea collision of the USS San Francisco with a mountain that that did not appear on Navy charts because the agency that prepares the charts lacks the resources to integrate satellite data. Hope everybody has a fun time in Washington.
