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A neighbor invited me to a lunch and a lecture: free, so I ate and then walked the halls and went to the library and talked with people before coming back for the end. I have no patience with lectures. I need true "interaction" if I am with people. Being talked at, and given information that I cannot use, and also for which I have workable additions but no invitation to participate, and chairs that strain my back muscles? Nope. Only the food: Coissant and chicken salad, and these moist, yummy pumpikin muffin tops with whipped cream. I had four, but they were only about four inches round so that wasn't too bad.

Then we went to a senior citizen center, into the thrift store part, and I bought two 100% cotton shirts, roomy kind, for bed, plus a pair of medium-sized "petite" sweats in a salmon color, very nice, for doing yoga--I'll just roll up the hemmed bottoms that come up about four inches above my ankles, and proceed with my workout, such as it is...

Yesterday, I did a lot of domestic stuff, enjoyed marking bins, going down in the basement and bringing up clean clothes that [my husband] had drying on a garment rack, and drying/putting away dishes, getting out and organizing clothes for winter by closet, marking plastic bins with labels or permanent markers--whichever made sense, and feeding Pickles fun stuff like pieces of Barbara's Oaties (whatever the real cereal name, she doesn't care either; she snatched and hid to eat each of 'em).

I am so much happier in this [flat].

Oh, yeah, last night, with back spasms, I popped aspirin and went to the church's regular Tuesday night supper. I had a great time, even better because though I noticed this man all dressed up looking out of place, I didn't find out who he was until I got home, and [my husband] told me:

A reporter who came to ask about Elizabeth (one of two murdered women that I mentored, cared about), so he could write something about her in relation to the church and us, whatever.

One of our bold members walked up to him, I heard... and she told him, "You're welcome to join us to eat, but you may not ask any questions."

No wonder he looked glum, and left before our supper was over.

If I had been the one he tried bamboozling, I would not have been firm but not off-putting. I would have told him to go fixate his unwelcome curiosity somewhere else because she wasn't and isn't "a serial killer story" to us.

I'm doing OK, though, now about her.

Someone who didn't know I knew her well pointed out where she had been taken with the other women, and I immediately said, "No, I can't hear this, I knew her; I mentored and loved her, no..." And she immediately changed the subject to something pleasant, and that was that.

I can't imagine still being in that dark house with the aftermath, and every time I go out having to hear something about "that", you know, what is to some titilating. There is nothing titilating to me about a hateful man kidnapping and killing women--not even women I don't know.

I don't watch "scandalous" shows or whatever one calls what I deem worse than meaningless shit. Or, like Paul Tillich, I deem the shows meaningless in the way he used that word.

Speaking of Paul Tillich and "meaningless" reminds me that I am still reading, The Courage to Be--and it's that time, tonight.
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