Two weeks today in my new own apartamentino; I'm almost used to it; the horrors (the minute by minute assault on the senses and sensibilities) of the (IHS, Institute for Human Services) Criminal (Homeless) Shelter (where I stayed from a few days before last Christmas until the first of this month), on Sumner Street at Iwilei, are fading fast from my memory. These days when I get up at dawn (as is my wont anywhere I am) it's the birds in the trees outside my window that wake me. Then I have fragrant milk-tea (St. Dalfour's Ceylon, or Twining's Darjeeling) with lots of sugar, just like I like it, and, while I'm guzzling it, I listen to music (Haydn, Telemann, Albinoni, or Mozart usually) and read (lately, Men on Men [gay shortstories], and science fiction [so long as it's not written by women]). Then, if this (Hamilton) library is open, I walk up here (ci vuole venti minuti), get on the computer, and do my email, or, as in the present instance, blog; if it's not (open), I take the bus down to the main library, or (on Sundays) to the one in Kaimuki. After I've confided my thoughts to my correspondents or to my public online diary, I go visiting, or to the beach, or (as I shall do today) I meet with my millionairesses to play bridge.