I had lunch with Brian today. A tourist to Baltimore, he managed to squeeze in our appointment between the American Urological Museum and the Great Blacks in Wax Museum. He was utterly delightful, but I found myself wondering if my company could possibly compare to that of a roomful of dioramas dedicated to the human bladder. On the way home, I ran into my dear friend Elizabeth, wandering the streets and looking for the keys she had dropped during her noontime walk. I suggested that she use my mobile phone to call her office to see if she had left them there, and she discovered that she indeed had. No one can tell me I don’t affect lives, although possibly not as many as the human bladder.

After meeting with my general contractor and not meeting with my dear friend Viki, I kept my appointment with Amy and briefly encountered my ex-boyfriend Michael, who presented me with a miniature bottle of cactus juice.

Later, on the train, I met a café attendant who resembled no one so much as Kia, the terrorist designer from television’s “Trading Spaces.” She was running a DVD of Mommie Dearest behind the bar. “That’s my favorite movie!” I exclaimed. “Mine, too!” she exclaimed. Luckily, no one else was in line, for we spent several minutes crowing about our favorite scenes, finally settling on the one where Joan Crawford glides down the stairs of her mansion wearing a gorgeous evening gown and clutching a plate of rotten meat.