Tables

Lester is fat and fluffy and making contented beak-chewing sounds. His eyes are half closed, and every so often he does one of his whistles, "salt peanuts" remains his all time favorite.

I am drinking tea. Black tea. With milk in it.

To do:

• Laundry
• Go for walk
• Prepare to teach tomorrow
• Go to reading at Bridge Street Books
• Look at the classifieds for places to live in Oceanside/Encinitas/Carlsbad
• Clean the floor

My level of thought has been pretty basic recently: get up, take pills, eat, talk to bird, talk to bird, work, talk to bird, obsess about grammar. I like teaching EFL more than I like most other jobs. My current esteemed colleagues are a great bunch of peoples. And even if we do fall into our same old same old kinds of conversations, at least it's along the lines of "when I was in Africa..." etc and not "I bought a lovely new set dinning room table." Nothing against tables.

In a few moments I'm going to turn up the heat and give Lester a spray bath. He loves to bathe but hates a spray bath--I'm not sure why. But it's a good way of cleaning him and his cage, and he's always happy and full of song afterwards.