But tonight I ended up taking another of those unintentional naps, which lasted over two hours, so I'm muddled again. Actually I was already muddled, so I'm now extra muddled. And I'm also craving catsup. Something must be seriously wrong. I don't even have any French fries. If it were 1964 I could walk about a mile through the silent suburban streets of Los Angeles to the Seven Stars Cafe and get a cheeseburger and fries, then go home and spend the night listening to my undestroyed records and writing in my unburned notebooks.
That's over, though. I think I'll make some grits. Probably won't put catsup on them, though.