At least one of my friends sent me two email messages that never arrived, never bounced and are not in my spam folder. So if you mailed me and I was strangely silent, that's probably why. Re-send.
I don't know why I am so sad tonight. Have a great weekend lined up, my lightest work days are Thursday, had two stories on front of newest Business Times. It could be partly that the most experienced reporter at the paper is leaving in two weeks, and I just found out today, and he has been a great mentor to me and others there.
Maybe it's just low seratonin. Or that I did not swim today. Or maybe sadness is a comfortable retreat, like coming home. Maybe this is what happens to you when you're in Pleasanton all day. Maybe it was hearing from a friend that, in meeting her current boyfriend, she practiced "strategic dating," complete with a checklist. Maybe I just need to call my family. Or I need to just decide to be in a better mood. Maybe writing this got it out of my system.
Blah blah. Sometimes I hate being a diarist.
... to lie awake some night, beyond the reach of warm milk, phenobarbital, and the sleeping hand on the coverlet ...
Didion! I feel better already.
Update! I am much less sad, five minutes later. Maybe it's temporary. But it seems AP and the Merc have just today run stories on San Francisco's exciting, record-setting $32 million home sale.
The one you wrote about Fri. Jan. 17, about one week earlier, Ryan?
Why yes, that's the one!
They did have that Larry Ellison and Gordon Getty are neighbors, which I didn't have, even though I knew about the Getty thing. They also provide the occupation of the owner's late husband, which I had been searching for. But otherwise the stories are the same. And they had an extra six days to work on them. Word!
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