Sleep, sleep, sleep...

Plenty was had, allowing for a pleasant day despite its regression into winter. Nothing for it but to repair to the indoor gym yet again, with a single and very outspoken friend. She minces not one word, ever. Good-hearted, generous, yet sort of like a somewhat explosive substance that one never is quite sure of. Oddly, if I speak out as boldly to her as she does to me, she seems taken aback. We have fun, anyway, and probably will go out tomorrow with a mutual friend, one she's known longer, for a refreshing beverage or two at Mona's. He is a tall, lean, athletic fellow who's the one that dared to go to an all female facial peeling party. He's a pretty sensitive guy, and my other friend says women love him for his sensitivity. She comes across as tougher than he does. They, in combination with me, the old straight married woman, shall have a good time.
It's getting colder, and I feel like hibernating with a book.
Oh, let us see what Elizabeth Bowen has to say:
"England - I sometimes feel, in the darker moments - would rather raise, and tolerate, crop after crop of playboys than honour, and take seriously a savagely serious and original mind. There has been a policy - quite, of course, unadmitted and unconscious - of 'Keep the children at play, so long as they don't break anything valuable, until, one morning, they wake up and find they are old men.' England is equally kind to the golden lad and the silver head - both voices are listened to with attention. Maturity, and its claims, on the other hand, almost always creates an awkwardness, a predicament. It seems one too many, in almost all fields of action. In fact, there seems to be little demand for it." (written in 1946)
And round and round and round it goes, over here in the 21st century, in the USA, the Best Country in the Whole Wide World. Only I do not think the current crop of aging playboys and their wastrel offspring can be said to be not breaking anything valuable...