ate at the Earthen Jar in Ann Arbor. I am full. And smug. Full of smug.

I miss this town. It’s big enough to be livable, but small enough to feel friendly and be full of trees.

If only Ann Arbor houses cost under a million dollars.

’m going to Flint tomorrow. I’ll be in town through Tuesday.

I hope to visit my mom’s library on Friday, assuming I don’t expire from the cold I have developed.
For your envy and amusement, my itinerary: I’m getting up at 4am so I can leave Ithaca at 4:30am so I can get to the Syracuse airport at 5:30am so I can fly at 6:30am so I can tranfer in DC at 8am so I can arrive in Detroit at 9:30am.

All to get to Flint.
Has mankind ever made such efforts?
Has anyone ever had to work so hard to get to Flint?

Every year the spiders come. They come in herds. They come alone. Through the drains and under the door, they come.

Spiders. For a week in September, our home is not safe from their octo-legitude. They get together, pick a time and make themselves at home.

This weekend I vacuumed about 35 spiders from various parts of my house. I vacuum every week. This isn’t lazy housekeeping. This is an invasion.

I complained to friendErin, but she had no sympathy. “In Arizona,” she said, “the local tarantulas migrate. There can be up to three miles of solid tarantula on the road.”

Not much fun in a moped.

Wishing you a bipedal day,
-Erica