Mistakes Happen

Cicero's mistake gives me pause, because I really like the word 'syllabus' and because I imagine he'd been drinking whatever that diluted wine beverage the Romans were fond of. Probably translating something from Greek, has that feel to it. I make mistakes all the time, a dozen a day, most of them are learning experiences, like where not to put your foot. I hate those Salvation Army bells, at the exit of Kroger's, can't wait for the season to be over. All three shows close at the end of the year, and I have six weeks to repair and paint everything, including two walls in the Carter Collection, which need to be re-hung. Compared to crawling around under the house, it's nothing. Several rounds of fried egg on toast (great eggs from TR's family chicken farm, in your face eggs) later, a roaring fire of red maple, nearly dawn, I'm positively giddy. Crashed early, I don't keep track of time, then woke in the dark, needing to pee, and didn't know what day it was. Went outside but didn't turn on the porch light, operating in the dark here, because I wanted to see the stars and didn't want my vision marred by even 40 watts of artificial light. Paid off in spades, if I can say that, I don't know if I can say that, politically, and there were a few. Not the night sky of Utah, but a few visual pricks. Some I recognize. Enjoying the view, when I hear a pack of dogs, working the ridge-line. Coon dogs, Red-Bone Hounds by the sound of them and I love these dogs, they have the greatest voice. Just saying. Talking to yourself, this time of morning, is fraught with dangers. The dogs get closer and I go inside. Fuck a bunch of confrontation. All that nuzzling and wet noses leaves me slightly nauseous. I'd really rather go inside.