So my weekends have settled into the same routine--mostly of trying to get Joephet out of bed for several hours, and failing at that until late afternoon, whereupon there is eating and then not much else--I can feel myself reading less, and thinking less, reduced to a few appetites and dreads. Whcih is not to say that it's not cute, at times: the other night, as we were waiting for the Chinese Japanese deliveryman, I was surprised to see a shirtless Joephet go to answer the door, as he'd been wearing a shirt all before then: but that's the sort of flirting whcih Joephet engages in, I'm afraid.

Not much to report beyond some pleasant wandering in unpleasant cold up and down Steinway in search of cheapery, and little else accomplished, beyond dinner with Kenneth and Joephet--they seemed to get along rather well, even though Joephet probably should not have touched Kenneth's pec, just like that.