February 15, 2014

Dark. It sounds more like winter than the snowstorm did, a stiff wind blowing, unaccustomed sounds in a new house.  My floors tilt interestingly. The cats use this when they’re batting their toys around. I’ve set up three computer stations, so I can sit down and write whenever a ghost of an idea crosses my mind. I’m waiting for that to happen. There’ll be one in the kitchen when I get a table for it. My windows face a street on ground level. My old practice of prancing around naked without the blinds down must be modified. Or not. I could become the neighborhood spectacle. It’s a wonder it hasn’t happened already.  Watched the Great Performances celebration of the anniversary of the National Theater last night. All of the performances were great; not all of the scripts were. I say these things to myself, while another part f myself figures out that the rest of the thought is “why aren’t they doing MY script, it being so much better, it being just as good?” Napped in broad daylight yesterday with the lght streaming through the south windows. Paradise. Made me think of Valdez, sleeping all the night in the blessed light.