Lovely, Dana!

If my nail polish legacy is shimmery olive, I am happy.

Better if it also includes an oil slicked duochrome with gray, purple and green. Like Ki or Greys Anatomy

Polish pretty.

Good luck on the working out.

Eat some pastries in Austria, Dana!

Dana, you're just round the corner from me! The heat just broke here with a lovely big thunderstorm, so relief is probably on its way.

Yeah, it rarely gets this hot, so no air con as a rule.

It is fucking hot, and these people in Europe don't believe in air conditioning.

They don't in the UK, either. And are confused about the idea of iced Americanos.

Have fun in Austria!

Enjoy Austria, Dana! Despite the heat.

Ooh, Dana! Have fun.

I just spent several hours volunteering at the arts festival here, and I am covered with sweat. Also the tan lines on my feet are more ridiculous than ever. But I heard some good music! And got a bunch of people's contact information. For work, not for me.

Is this woo nurse that you frequently have to call when she's about an hour later than agreed upon?

She's been as much as two hours late--she did call and say she was late, but she didn't call for the first ninety minutes, SO. Yeah--you can't be both, otherwise I'm on high alert all morning, and that's not good for patients who is exactly everyone whose houses you're going to. Shouldn't be hard to remember.

I've decided to Teavana her and control the conversation so she doesn't recommend anything to me--but now I think that either a) she's going to go to her friends and say "I have this patient who's just ridiculous! She keeps talking about science and medicine like it makes any sense! It's awful..." b) she'll be hawking the coconut palm sugar I gave her as a cure for cancer (just add stem cells and mix thoroughly!).

But she *liked* the sugar. I explained glycemic indices to her, and the ratings of various sweeteners, and I had a baggie of sugar I'd been going to send to the sister (I just bought her a bag instead, so she'd have the labelling) and she was eating straight out of the bag while we talked.

I told my mother that my inability to ejaculate sperm was psychologically similar for me to my inability to recognise or reproduce pitch exactly--they are things my body does not do, and I don't attach much importance to either of them as far as a big picture--introducing my mother to the idea of rejecting deep etching of the gender binary. She was remarkably not that taken aback by me talking about having an erection, even insofar as saying "Only us have this conversation..."

This was my leadup to discussing going bald. She asked me to "just do something for me, ita--do something for your mother..." I think I talked her down to "This is not for or about you (except for the part where you never taught me haircare)." with her remaining response being "Don't tell me when, then." Since I doubted her ability to feel it in her soul.

She's growing her hair longer like my sis. They weird.

My ability to find horizontal surfaces to nap on on mornings of days I need to start cleaning remains epic.

Waking up pretty much ruins my sleep for me, but I am accepting that the reason I still resent abluting in the morning is because it's the final admission that I'm not crawling back into the sheets.

I hate vacuuming. It's like wrestling with an octopus.

I hate vacuuming. It's like wrestling with an octopus.

Clutching an anchor. Also a hater.