April 3, 2016

Skipped church, went to Edna’s to do some writing. The place was unusually crowded, and I realized that the power outage that had turned my power off for five seconds had blackened everything up Beaver Dam since midnight, and hungry and cold people were flocking to the cafes for comfort. Tom and CoCo were there. At the table beside me was Tory, a young man whose PTSD was set off by feeling trapped in a dark basement, and then feeling trapped at the end of Beaverdam because a huge tree had fallen across the road. You had to pick an alternate route through the forbidding hills and gated condos. Wrote at my play about Iraq. Revised Uranium 235. The sky is ablaze, but it’s not warm enough for me to do the outdoor work I would otherwise have done. Took the tubs off the delicate ones I meant to save from freezing during the night. Much napping with Maud wedged between my belly and the open air.