I cancelled the pulmonary doctor's appointment, no way I was going to make it, skipped breakfast and I realize I haven't been at all hungry now that it's four in the afternoon. Nothing appeals. I could eat ice cream, don't want a steak sandwich or a pizza or sushi and anything else that's sold nearby to include Korean, Indian and Vietnamese. So we'll probably end up cooking spaghetti later. Ugh! But only a marginal “ugh!”. It can be done.

An email today from Ms F-S saying a Texas friend had pointed her to the Rip Off Press photographs on artandlife. Asked if I might have any photographs of Spain from earlier days (which unfortunately I don't), that the memorial service was being held in San Francisco on the 18th of March and, oh yes, she was happy to see pictures of her and Philippa in the Rip Off Press group, Philippa having passed away some seventeen years ago.

I hadn't known that. Seventeen years ago, she couldn't have been but fifty years old. I'll answer the email when my head is more together and ask what happened, had her life at least gone well up til the end? I've always, when I've thought of Ms. Stardust, hoped assumed she was living well and had found, if not the end of the rainbow, then something even better that brought her a smile. I shall miss her even more, I'm afraid, now that I know.

Evening. A walk to the burger drive-in to bring home the steak sandwich when I remembered they also have milk shakes. That was enough to tip the balance.

To bed really early this evening, I think. One advantage to this is I seem to be able to sleep whenever I want. It's been very easy to verge on the chills all day long, getting up to put on another sweater, then, when too warm, taking it off again. I'll set the alarm, see if I can't get up and make it to breakfast.