The tour was given by one of the curators, and was worth every penny we paid for it and more. Much more, in this case, since it was free, save the usual admittance fee to the museum. Our curator-slash-guide was fantastic, and blended just the right amount of art history, cultural history and plain old gossip. It was a good time, and I learned a lot.

After the tour ended, it was pouring down rain, so we went to a pub less than a block from the museum. I had two guinesses, and a frugal selection from the happy hour spread to make up for them. I called Elvis, but he refused to come out in the rain (thought he'd melt or something. Really, he ought to be used to Milanese weather by now.) So I went out for dinner with Maggie and Mr. V, and they told me all about their Mediterranean cruise and we ate heartily.

So much for that diet.

Yesterday, I got my period, which aside from being a big surprise, went a long way toward explaining my unusual bout with industrial-grade jetlag. PMS plus Jetag equals Feeling Like Shit, not to mention the fatigue and bloating and so forth.

On the plus side, I was too damn tired to be a gigantic bitch, so someone was a winner here. Wasn't me, but someone must have.

Also, as I move from pre into menstrual, I'm discovering that the damage done by reckless binging on our trip home wasn't as bad as I thought. I'm keeping it up with the diet, though.

Swimsuit season is here, and there is no way I'm prepared for that one, either physically or mentally. So: no beer, no sweets, minimal cheese. Red wine is OK, though.

I'm not that desperate.

Nor that vain, apparently.

Yesterday was grey and gloomy and crampy (at least for me). So I made us some pizza and we hauled out the DVDs for a Buffy-Fest after the soccer had ended for the day.

Eight episodes.

That's a lot of ass kicking.

The best part is, we're only on Season 2.

There's a lot of ass kicking left.

Go Buffy.

We got up early today to watch the US draw with South Korea, then I went to Italian.

Class went OK today. I had a nice chat with my teacher about all the stuff that happened on my vacation and so forth, and we got a lot done.

Didn't fire her though. Instead, I decided to cut back to once a week. I'd really like to finish this book we're working on.

Wonder if I'll get to do it before we move?

Also, I figure that if I quit going all together, we won't move, because that's just the way life is. This life, at least. Then Elvis will stay all crabby, which will make me crabby and sad, and so on and so on.

I wish we'd get some definite answers, though. All this "you are definitely out of here" without documents or even a concrete leaving date is just not cutting it.

Plus, everytime the Big Bosses at the Company use the word "definite", it ends up meaning "we're definitely wrong".

On the other hand, this kind of uncertainty is the price I agreed to pay when I married Elvis and gave up my own career to travel with him. And, unlike my own never-lamented boss, his bosses definitely fall in the realm of "human", so that's something.

It's still not fair on Elvis, though.

If they break his heart, if they disappoint him in some way after all this, I will kill them.

In a definitely creative way.