day moves onto day . . .

. . . and although nothing much is to report, I have signs that make me feel better.

I continue to ride through the subdivisions, through rows of houses that look like an elementary schoolchild's idea of Home. Sky-blue window shutters, a second story, a white fence . . . It's my detachment that speaks ill, not the houses. Suburbs are like grandmothers -- dowdy, smothering, stifling, timeless yet weirdly immortal in their detachment from the world -- at least, until you grow up and begin to see them as more than archetypes in your life. But by then, they are frail and crumbling, sometimes gone forever.

Mosquitoes insane here now. I think they're a different species; five or six of them flock around your head with the persistence of Jehovah's Witnesses, and won't leave until you take off running. They'll even sting you through repellent, through your clothing. Just now, I killed one of them in my very bed. Sneaky bastards.

I hope I get my hands on We Love Katamari before I move, but who knows if I can. The new game's intro sequence is like a fever dream inspired by the first. I am deeply frightened by the King now, but hey, at least he helps with the laundry.