I shot a lot of photos in Europe. The collection is available at http://www.flickr.com/photos/domesticat/collections/72157631548498001/ and is broken down by city and by theme, but since I've been asked a few times, I thought I'd pick just a few photos to tell the overarching story.

I'll say it. I like Amsterdam, but I don't love it.

I don't think I'll speak of it in the rapturous terms that many others have. We get along, the city and I, but I think we're meant to see other people. It hit me on the way home; Amsterdam is a city of revelry, merriment, and conviviality. I am alone by choice. We have different intentions, the city and I. I'm glad I came, and I've seen amazing things here, but I'm ready to move on to London.

Nobody sees me these days, except for the people who pop by to pick up Jeff to take him out to lunch, so I really need to make a point to write here. I'm alive, I swear; my ticket queue at work is already too large for me to ever die.

I have mixed feelings about that. I suspect I would have especially strong mixed and smelly feelings, post-mortem.

So let me cheat and give you the life in pictures, lately. I have neither the brain power for introspection nor the ability to take a straight-on shot of my current quilt, so we're just gonna have to improv here, kids.

It was one of those Clean ALL The Things weekends. (If you've never read the comic that inspired that statement, stop now, go read it, and then come back here.)

After a bench scraper, lots of bleach, elbow grease, and the passage of time, my kitchen is no longer a disaster zone. I had to resist the urge to lie on my countertops, to attempt to cuddle with them.

I present Edmund's nonverbal, but very clear, instructions to Jeff:

As we all know, things on the internet can be changed after the fact, so let's archive a few things relevant to the upcoming weekend:

What do you say to those who insist we cannot know the precise date of Judgment Day?