. . . is how many books I checked out of the library today. I know because I lugged them to the gym and, as soon as I arrived, weighed them on the scale in the locker room. A friend I ran into on the bus pointed out that if I had tried to take them on an airplane, they would have just barely squeezed under the oversized-baggage cut-off. (Actually, the book-filled suitcase I struggled back from New York with also weighed forty-nine pounds, so maybe the number has some kind of karmic significance.)
New Years' is well-known to those who know me as my least-favorite holiday but I feel pretty okay about it this year. It's hard to be too freaked out when one's cat is so unruffled.
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