Belly of the Whale

I am unexplainably tired. The computer is unexplainably slow. All is well and my bed, though firm and sweat-provoking, is calling me forward at an unreasonably early hour of the night.

I have stories to tell but they will wait: the flashing headlights of the "absurd," the talk with Tenzing, the trip (forthcoming) to Pokhara. I feel I am forgetting already. I forgot already to write an email to Kara Bale; now it will wait as well. I want really to call my dad. If anyone nearby reads this, though unlikely, please call him and tell him all is well. I have waited for Mary Locke, but now I am unsure where she is. I don't even have Charles email, and Will doesn't check. I am alone and my father may not know I am well. THis is not good, but alas I am tired. My calling card doesn't work from this country and I don't even know the country code. Rot!