To the dentist in the morning to have a temporary crown affixed, with all the attendant drilling and sticking your entire jaw into gel and such. At least it fixes a hole that had become quite annoying during eating.
Instead of nitrous oxide, which I've probably had enough of, this dentist believes in relaxing his patients by prescribing them a little pill. It must be some powerful pill, because the pharmacy had raised a huge fuss over dispensing any of it, and the dentist subsequently earned my gratitude by being willing to negotiate the pharmacy's labyrinthine phone tree in order to get this settled.
One takes it the evening before, and I immediately drifted off to eight hours of a dreamless sleep. Immediately on returning home from the dentist (B. drove, both ways), I drifted off to eight hours of a dreamless sleep again, which wasted the whole afternoon. Pandora, I was later told, got on top of me in hopes of arousing me for feeding, but no luck.
We've had the outside furnace door locked, so I'm afraid it's now off-limits for homeless men to huddle and risk getting monoed or burning down the house.
I'm going to Potlatch, but now I find all sorts of tempting concerts going on at home that weekend. And, when I'm there, the Seattle Symphony is off for the week. Rats. The things I do for science fiction.