Which is what several of my late-period Beatles LPs seem to have done, and I have no idea whence nor when. I can’t find Rubber Soul, Sgt. Pepper, Magical Mystery Tour, the white album, and Let It Be. Every one of ’em on vinyl, every one bought not later than ’79. Why I didn’t notice they were gone last year when I catalogued my collection, I can’t think.
It’s not like I can’t replace any of them—we’re not talking about a butcher-block Yesterday and Today—but I was at the point of being ready to rip them all to CD, and now I can’t. Bother.
In other news, L walked into work this morning to find that a co-worker with a long history of mental problems had checked himself into Shoal Creek Hospital (for non-Austinites, that’s a private psych hospital), and no telling when the doctors will agree to let him out again. She was planning on spending this evening with the sewing machine, working on finishing new square dance outfits for her and M to wear to the state square dance convention this weekend; instead, she’s staying until who knows when, trying to clear off her desk after having had to work the other person’s desk much of the day. (ETA: she walked in just now.)
Element’ry penguin singing Hare Kṛṣṇa. Fnord.
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