always fatal for me: a bookstore

I was going along just fine here in Arusha, spending more money that I should have, but still managing to be relatively thrifty. Now it's all over. I found a bookstore. Not just a bookstore, but a bookstore with lots of the sort of books I like: stories of homecomings in Lebanon, women's lives in India, third culture kids all over the world. The bookstore sells great coffee and in theory I could just read the books as I sit there, but it never works. I buy. I always, always buy.

Nothing exciting has been happening lately. People tried to get me to go to a club last night. I refused. I was too tired. When I'm tired, a club is the last place you want me to be because I will crabbify the entire place.

Dallas have been ripping us off. Maybe the price of fuel went up, but only the price of the halfway home trip went up. To go all the way home costs the same.

I wear my wrist brace a lot, for typing. Usually once I put it on in the morning I don't take it off until I leave the office, so I get really sympathetic looks from everyone. Once on the street a girl said, "Oh, poli sana." I looked around madly. "What, what? What's wrong?" It was just my wrist. When I go through metal detectors wearing the brace, I set them off every time. I have to tap on the metal slab in the brace to show the guards that I'm not scary.