So, what did I actually do this weekend?

Well, I did do laundry. And rather than playing Scrabble Zabet, her Hubby, and I went out to Krishna's (an Indian restaurant, obviously) and then sat around and talked most of the evening, which was nice. I'd never been to Krishna's, and it was very yummy. I brought home plenty of food for lunch tomorrow. I especially liked the naan I got with nuts, raisins, and coconut stuffed inside.

Saturday was BEAUTIFUL. Breezy, warm (60s!), and sunny--very spring-like. I flung all the windows open. Later, I went visiting some other friends. Then I went to pay a bill and realised that I did not have my ATM card with me. Turns out it wound up in Zabet's dryer and had gone through two cycles. They brought it over today. Fortunately, it still works, which is amazing, especially given the fact that I seem to demagnetise the things all the time.

Today we didn't have the game after all. I didn't clean the bathroom (but then, it's basically okay--just a few toothpaste spatters), but I did some dusting and a load of dishes. It started out very cloudy and was much colder, but at least the sun did come out. The cats kept trying to pile up in the sunbeams and at one point the sun hit a line of little mirrors I have on a suncatcher and Spock went wild (he plays with flashlights, too). Then they all piled on me while I took a nap on the couch, since the sun had settled about where I was sleeping.

I went over to Walgreen's tonight (after using the prodigal bank card) and got some peanut butter and Diet Pepsi. I couldn't resist getting a kite that looks like a monarch butterfly. I am SO ready for spring. Tomorrow's still supposed to be cold, but then Tuesday it goes back into the 50s (yea!)

I'm reading Patricia Cornwell's Portrait of a Killer: Jack the Ripper--Case Closed, in which she asserts and presents a rather impressive amount of evidence that Jack the Ripper was an English artist named Walter Richard Sickert. I must admit, I was not convinced when I watched a news programme devoted to it some time ago. But in print, the evidence is quite convincing. Cornwell believes that Sickert was a sociopath who had issues due to a series of medical procedures to fix a fistula of the penis which quite probably mutilated him and left him incapable of errection.

I have to admit, one of the reasons it's an uncomfortable read for me is that in terms of psychology Sickert reminds me very much of someone I was with a long time ago. Oh, I'm not saying he's up there with a Jack the Ripper, but I've often wondered if he really has any form of conscience or real emotions--most everything he did or said was a matter of manipulation. He could be very charming, but...well, so could Ted Bundy. And I was extremely naive and wanted someone to love me, so I let myself fall into the trap, whereas a person more self-esteem would have dismissed him as a childish coward. I know some things about his childhood that I'm sure most others have no idea about. As a child he met two of the three "warning signs" of a future serial killer--enuresis (bedwetting) and mutilation of animals (he once confessed cutting off the genitalia of a dead dog to me)--as far as I know, he never set fires. Certainly with the amount of cruising that he did, often out all night, one sort of wonders, in retrospect. But I don't know anything for sure. I can't imagine him being violent with a stranger, anyway. His modus operandi was always a form of emotional abuse and manipulation. I'm no expert in psychology, but I can read the DSM-IV. I really have come to think he was a borderline too (not a good combination given my own diagnosis), and maybe narcissistic. I can only hope that in the years since I left he's gotten some help--but I'm glad it's not my problem anymore.

Anyway, the Cornwell book is quite good. If you have any interest in the subject, I highly recommend it.