Thinking Clearly

I've got to start thinking more clearly. Missed the boat today, as I should have just taken off work an extra hour and did the whole drinking water, heavy item shop today, as I knew the driveway would be frozen and snowless when I got home. Now I'm counting on being able to get out and in tomorrow. Never make assumptions. I'll probably be ok. Still, it was a sure thing today, and tomorrow is an unknown. This new Jim Harrison collection of three novellas is wonderful reading, "The Farmer's Daughter"; the cold woke me this morning about 4 AM, got up and started a fire, brewed an espresso, snuggled back on the sofa and read for a couple of hours while the house heated enough for me to shave. Winter mode. I'm attuned to the seasons, not through any master plan, but by necessity, the choices I've made. Sometimes even I can't believe them, the choices, and I'm forced to consider. Having Tammy around the museum is a good thing, for the museum, and for me. She almost doesn't believe me, I'm almost a fictional character in a physical workspace. She'll ask me something and I'll answer her, and she'll look at me like I'm making things up. Which I do, which confuses the issue. The temps are dropping so fast, I put the oil-filled electric heater right next to where I write, and warm my hands, so I can type. What becomes normal. I stop writing at night now, when my hands are too cold to roll a cigaret. And even then, I allow myself two failures. I love writing and I love smoking, and it's hard to give either of them up, any given night. I leave out almost everything, to say something. No great shakes. Another day. I was so pissed at Trish and Penny that I could have shot them, but I really don't want to go the prison. So I retreat to the basement, as far away as possible, so I don't have to be there, to hear them talk. I hate hearing the English language slaughtered. I'll cross the street, rather than say something stupid. The Scioto has escaped its banks, the Ohio is flooded, I need to take rubber boots, tomorrow, walk the wrack line. Nothing else makes any sense. Maybe the crows, if I understood more Crow. The river rises and falls. I merely report. High water, wear boots.