the lions?

Vicki actually left town unexpectedly last night, so I ended up being here alone again, but honestly I was so exhausted it didn't matter. I slept like a log, in my own bed, and I wasn't too scared. And look! This morning, I'm perfectly fine! And no one broke into the house! Which makes me feel a little silly for freaking out so much before. And also a little more like an adult. Y'know, for not freaking out, just once.

I think I'm coming to a truce with T. S. Eliot. His later stuff is much better, in my opinion, than his early stuff, including "The Wasteland" (which I find I loathe) and "The Love song of J. Alfred Prufrock". Also, it's just plain endearing when a giant like that talks about how hard poetry is for him.