I have always been absentminded and I've developed some compensatory habits (looking back at the bus seat as I get up from it, for the inevitably left-behind walkperson or bag), but I've got to start wondering if this little "habit" of mine is a message from the underworld. I left the bag B bought me in Bath at the Gray Whale pizza place in Inverness, up near Point Reyes. A phone call confirmed it. Instead of driving into Berkeley for scones or croissants for a leisurely crossword puzzle breakfast with B I am barreling up through Sunday beachgoer two surfboards on top of car caravans over the hills to west marin, and i had to stop in fairfax for coffee and some muffins and some juice and some water before i expired. The rest of the day floated by. I kept putting off finishing up these journal entries (this and the Barbie saga), skimmed without reading the overabundance of newyorkcentric paper media lying around the house, got partway through greil marcus's latest rumination on dylan in the sunday rag mag part of the s.f. chronex, watched some recorded (praise the vcr gods, who were not displeased, and who did not destroy the tape) sci-fi (babylon five season four finale, big scope), read some of The Two Towers to b as she drifted off, came back in here to resume the e-mail sifting, journal-updating sisyphus-recalling process and said ferget it and sacked out in my room, computer left on screen thankfully blanked.