I intended to, of course. But when I got out of the shower, I felt slightly less alert than I had before, which I hadn't even thought was possible. Then, huge swathes of time started disappearing, just like that. Before I knew it, it was 10:40 and I hadn't dried my hair or camouflaged my face or gotten dressed or anything. I'm supposed to arrive somewhere between 10:30 and 11:00-- she's pretty flexible. It takes me at least 40 minutes to get there.

Plus, it was raining. Bucketing down, and I just knew the trams would be screwed up.

And I hadn't done my homework, either.

So I called her and cancelled. I should have done it earlier, especially since I knew she would understand. So we talked for a while, and I discovered that even in my befuddled state I hadn't managed to lose any Italian, which is good.

Instead, I read diaries and watched more World Cup action. For lunch I had leftover sushi, as I had made way too much of it Wednesday night, in part because I expected to screw some up. It was a standard California roll, nothing raw. I used surimi, (or krab, or molded and flavored pollack, or whatever you want to call it) so I figured it would be OK, and I doubted I'd really notice a bit of food poisoning anyway, given my physical state.

It was still good.

I went to yoga last night, as well. I used to go twice a week, but I had cut back to just Tuesday mornings. However, considering my vacation dietary sins and the resultant weight gain, I figured it was time to get serious again.

I'm beginning to wonder what they fed Calliope at the pet pensione.

She won't eat her regular food. Oh, she still digs the milk, and she'll nibble a bit of pure�d whatever, but she resolutely refuses to touch the crunchy.

I, on the other hand, am resolved to keep giving it to her until she gives in.

Unfortunately, Calliope is way more stubborn than I am, so we'll see what happens.

Also, since she's been back she's been sleeping on my pillow. Which might be OK if she didn't hog it. I'll wake up to find my head hanging halfway off the edge, and Calliope sprawled luxuriously across the pillow, with her foot suspiciously close to my face.

Or I'll wake up to the vision of her energetically swabbing out her butt with her tongue. Slurp, slurp.

It's a bit too much to take, either way.

In other news, our washing machine stopped working while we were away.

To clarify, it still seems to work, but the water doesn't. So it will sit there for hours, chugging away, waiting for the basket to fill with water.

And waiting. And waiting.

The exact same thing has happened before, after we returned from vacation last summer. I tried everything I could think of, and ended up calling Landlady. She asked me for the service phone numbers off the manual, said she would call and arrange to have someone come take care of it as soon as possible.

And, of course, that damn plumber showed up.

See My Plumbing Hell, Parts I to ? if you need further enlightenment.

That bastard turned the effing thing on, and of course it worked for him.

Then I got to deal with his "stupid foreigner, can't even work a washing machine" attitude.

What I figure is that our crunchy water managed to calcify in the pipes, and all my fooling around with it managed to knock something loose. That it happened when Middle touched the damn thing is just my own naturally bad luck.

I do not want to see that bastard ever again, so calling Landlady is out.

Plus, he'll probably just convince her that it's all my fault for not allowing him free reign to further destroy my apartment while we were in the US, despite the fact that it's clearly not the case given the history here. The machine is hardly a jewel of technological wonder in the first place. The little compartments for the soap, bleach and softener stopped working two months after we moved in, despite the fact that the washing machine was brand new. Middle was supposed to fix that as well, but of course did not. Hey, if I was wrong about the water, obviously the soap problem didn't exist, either. Right?

I'd rather go to the laundromat.

What I figure I'll do is keep fiddling around with it, just like I did last time. To that end, I've already removed and reconnected the tubes in the back, tried to run it repeatedly, and kicked and slapped the thing several times for good measure.

Eventually, I'll have Elvis try it and it will work.

At least I hope so.

Tonight is my women's group's final happy hour for the year. Our year is roughly equivalent to a school year, probably because most expats tend to arrive or leave in the summer and, let's face it, nothing much happens in Italy in the summer in any case.

We are, once again, having it at the Mardi Gras. I've talked to Tommy, and everything is all set. I love that man: he does everything all perfect, I do nothing other than promotion and minimal administrative stuff, and I end up looking like a genius at the end.

What could be better than that?

I'm looking forward to it.