Rides in cars

mOm and pOp picked me up in the Camaro yesterday, so by the time I got to Dan’s I looked like the Wrath o God™. The trip to the ferry was horrible, and I’d like to kick the ass of the 620 bus driver into an interdimensional sling.  Drove right past me AT THE CORRECT STOP and two appalled American tourists who insisted on sticking to me until we got on the ferry, and then I asked them to get bus tickets before the wicket closed, and they came back to where I was sitting and mOm saw them briefly when they debarked.

I had a lovely nights’ sleep. I’m definitely tossing my mattress when I get home and getting something like the bed in the guest room here, it is like Morpheus’ fainting couch or something.

I should go make myself some tea – it’s noon and I’ve had nothing to drink so far today, which is just ridiculous, but I loathe Victoria water so I have to flavour it with something.

Yay internet in the guest room.

Blackberry jelly from Tom to pOp, hummingbird finger puppet from me to mOm.  (Level up noise.)

There’s a letter from Lois to mOm thanking her for putting up Kaitlyn’s plaque.  That made me cry.  Everything these days makes me cry, but that doesn’t bother me.  Not being able to feel would bother me a lot worse. If you read the hashtag on twitter #ifIdieinpolicecustody you’ll do some more crying.