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My endurance is better in San Diego. However at this point, I am not healthy enough to withstand the rigors of the University of San Diego. It's too much of an academic risk, and the hills are especially difficult for me to navigate.

The plan: I will return to San Diego and attend a (level-ground) community college if I am not better by the end of summer. It'd be ideal to avoid the "fall slide" POTS throws at me when the seasons change. Meantime, medications will be adjusted, exercise enforced, and spirit encouraged.

Balboa Park has a dog park. There are dogs. They are cute. Almost as cute, I find, as the nameless boy, the little Asian boy who shoots me. Shoots me with his (new) toilet brush machine gun. Victorious, he turns into a goose AND a robot. I perceive this because he puts down his weapon and says "HONK" and "I am a robot." He jumps. Honks. Runs away. Comes back. Repeat. I want to be friends. Yet he does not understand my quacking. I am FLUENT in Preschooler, dummy.

Sigh.

Little boy skips to the back of the salon. Opens the door. His aunt is changing. They both scream. She hates the dress she's trying on. She screams again. Little boy screams again. Everybody laughs. Little boy cries. Then they disappear, off to lunch, never to be seen again.

Until perhaps the fall.

emma