I saw azure-hued men eating twinkies to the sound of Ravel's 'Bolero', was reminded that taking my much-longer-stride at my housemate's much-slower-pace winds up with me in fucking agony due to the bad knee, and discovered that the desserts at Nine Fine Irishmen (in New York New York) are a good acid test for lactose intolerance (yep, I'm officially lactose-intolerant).
And that was JUST MONDAY.
Sunday was fun- got in, went to O.
Tuesday was fine- this time, I remembered that my goddamn stride needs to not be the whole length when I'm walking slower. Sleeping was a bit of a chore- the pillows were too darn mushy, and I had trouble gettin' comfy. No big deal, really.
Overall, the housemate did very well at slot machines.
I'm very, very glad I'm home.