Freeze, Thaw

See-Saw, zero to forty in a couple of days, and now for another iteration of mud. The walk out wasn't bad, I just went in to turn over my keys and everything is amicable. I can still work on the Carter Collection, docent college art history students; and Mark said it was ok for me to leave my various books and papers until I could drive them into my house. I have a couple of thousand manuscript pages and a couple of dozen books in the vault, some tools in the basement, some clothes (denim shirts and a sports coat) in a closet, and some pictures on the cork board in what is now my old office. TR bought me a parting lunch at the pub, and I stopped at Kroger on the way home. I knew the snow on the driveway would be rotten when I came home, so I bought just a few things. TR agreed to come out and set me up with a Lenovo lap-top (his recommendation, they are, he said, almost indestructible), a new printer, and a system whereby I can operate, as soon as the driveway refreezes. It's going to be tight, financially, but I had to do this now, while I still had the energy to finish some of my own projects. I seem to be working on three books at the same time, and consulting with TR about the opera we want to do. The opera is gaining footage. I'll work on the libretto with him, he'll compose and I'll direct. We seem to have people, singers and musicians, that want to work on the project. Despite myself, always crying that I'll never do another combined art project, that I just want to be left alone, I like it while I'm in it, and I very much like working with TR. Revive the Floating Opera, take it up and down the river. It's beautiful, but slick as goose-shit getting back up the hill. When you have to pay attention to every god-damned step, walking is not a simple joy. Incredibly stark. All the ice is off the trees and the under-story. It's just black and white. Desolate, and so darkly beautiful. I listen to her, every night, calling from the coral reefs. I'd really rather be dead that hear her cries.