Will's Coffee House

John Dryden, Dramatist, Critic, Poet Laureate, and my ancestor, frequented a coffee house called Will's almost daily, where he would hold forth on sundry subjects with great wit and aplomb. Same deal here, only without the wit or aplomb.

Location: Large Midwestern City, Midwestern State, United States

I am a stranger in a sane land...

Tuesday, January 10, 2006


No talking above a whisper.

No sudden movements.

In fact, no talking and no movement whatsoever. There was wine. Then whiskey. Then calvados. Then some serious lying down while I felt the movement of the world as it revolved around the sun. And this morning, there is bright, bright, lasik-surgery bright sunlight. And traffic noise. And a taste I can't quite identify in my mouth but which I'd swear has something to do with the process of radioactive decay.

And I have to teach. This should be...amusing. Tomorrow. Today, nothing is amusing. At all. Groan...


Blogger Lisa said...

I think it's amusing enough today.

4:04 PM  
Blogger Yr. Hmbl. & Obdt. said...

You know, I'd snap "It's not funny!"--except that it's a nearly perfect rule of life that when someone says "It's not funny," he or she will ensure that it sudden *is* very funny indeed. So I shall fume silently, impotent in my misery. Which, come to think of it, is pretty funny.

1:38 PM  

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