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Sunday, November 28, 2004 Woke up this morning expecting to meet a Spanish friend around 11:30 for caffeine and conversation. I'd had multiple offers re: social activity today, including an invite from my sainted landlords to join them and a bunch of other inviteds for their annual Thanksgiving feed. Found myself feeling that life had been busy enough recently that I wanted to keep this day simple -- took a raincheck on the dinner, opted to do the café/chat thing, maybe go to the gym later. Write, take a stab at Spanish studies. Or go back to bed, post-café. Whatever felt okay. Got up after nine, showered/shaved. Stumbled out, found a copy of the Sunday paper, stopped in at one of the few local joints open on Sunday mornings. Gobbled down a croissant, inhaled the day's first infusion of caffeine. Returned home slightly more conscious, stumbling a bit less. Shortly before heading out to meet my friend, the phone rang: himself, after a long night of partying, canceling the rendezvous. The day outside: gray, cool. As I write this, it's 12:30 -- the streets remain subdued, few people about. As low-key a Sunday as one could ask for in the heart of a major city. Crawling back under the covers for some shuteye (something I rarely do during the day) is suddenly feeling like a fine option. Finer and finer, in fact, with every passing minute. Back to bed it is then. Later. Madrid, te quiero. rws 6:25 AM [+]
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