Another loaded gun.

Two moments of triumph this week:

Wednesday night, I got to save the day. I was leaving my room just as I heard screaming in the hallway - the sort of sound I associate with bad horror movies and lots of gore. Turned out there was a single cockroach in the bathroom. Not an infestation, horde, or plague. One single roach. And the girls in the bathroom had screamed and immediately fled to the hallway and were still standing there when I came by.

Someone else had a cup they wanted to use to catch the roach, but couldn't get in five feet of it. So I sighed, turned off the sink they'd left running when they'd fled, took the cup, flicked the roach from the sink to the floor, and caught it in the cup. I slid a paper towel underneath to wrap it up like a little present and handed it over. City kids, I swear.

Thursday afternoon, in the gym, a fairly fit middle-aged man was doing standing push presses at 30-40 pounds. I picked up the 70 pound bar to do the same exercise, and when he saw what I was doing, exclaimed, "You can't use more weight than me!"

And in a moment of erudite wit, I responded with the inquiry, "Says who?"

Of course, today I found out a pot of mine from the kitchen - a communal area, but my pot was in a box on the other side of the room from the stove and tucked into a corner with my name and room number written on it - was missing, along with its lid. So that blows. A long walk helped, but I'm keeping my eye out and hoping it turns up. I'd really been hoping for risotto next week.