I am supposed to be removing books from the house. Unfortunately (for the removal project) I discovered a temporary venue for selling, which adds an extra step. And because I am a sick, sick, sad, pathetic, pathological hoarder I have a giant heap that I just can't see getting rid of. Like the weird Christmas books. Like the gun sights catalog. Like the Mater Coronata recited at the bicentennial celebration of Yale University by Edmund Clarence Stedman, L.H.D., LL.D. The slender Lileks-worthy Entertain Differently in the Danish Manner pamphlet. Kids' books that aren't worth a thing, but they are cool books. How can I toss Diana Wynne Jones? I can not. Dreadful.
Today I took Victoria for a checkup--she took a polio shot in the arm without even wincing. I was pretty amazed. The doctor is sending us to an opthamologist because she thinks one eye isn't tracking right. I hereby document my prediction that when Brian hears this he will use the term "pre-existing condition".
They had a Halloween party at daycare so Victoria was dressed up when I got there after work. We came home and set candy out on the porch, then we hit the streets. I wanted to check up on my friend who lives down by the library. He hadn't emailed in a while and when we got to his house it was lit up but uninhabited, with paper over the ground-floor windows and repair-type stuff lying on the porch and in the yard. Very spooky. I think I know how to track his son down, which I will try to do tomorrow. The long walk meant an enormous haul for Victoria. We made it home in time to hand out candy to the last few groups of trick-or-treaters. She went to bed, I slid into despair. Bleh