Beans for Breakfast

My doorbell rang at 7:30 this morning and I didn’t answer it. I got up an hour later, showered, and then sat down at my computer. An email prompted me to scan today’s headlines. There had been four terrorist bombings in London. I launched the IM client to check in on London-friend Fiona. She said she’d left work early, after the police had set off a number of controlled explosions of abandoned packages in the area around her office building. I couldn’t think of anything to say. I just typed, “I’m sorry.” She signed off. I decided to replan my day, choosing to do some work from a coffee shop hotspot instead of running errands in the suburbs. On the way out, I found a subpoena with my name on it taped to the outside door. I’m instructed to appear in court in a couple of weeks, presumably in a case related to my car’s theft in April. Now I’m at Top Pot plugging numbers into a spreadsheet. I ocassionally skim through the backlog of unread entries in my Bloglines account, noting the odd mix of entries written after today’s bombings and those written earlier in the week.