Not Yet

I can't speak to that. Not yet, I will, we can be sure, but I need to let things settle. Fines are where you find them. Daylight, fuck, the day has caught up with me, I'd better go, sleep a few hours, this new found liberty is exhilarating. Went into town to get what I thought was my last check, but it seems I get paid for one more week; paid my bills, went to the pub for lunch and a beer. Everyone wanted to buy me a beer. The staff at the pub all wanted me to work St. Patrick's day. Nobody is looking forward to it, 30 kegs of beer, people five deep at the bar, and you couldn't pay me to be around such a crowd. Picked up a few supplies, drove home, and walked in through terrible mud. B at the top of the hill and we sat for a few minutes, on the print shop porch, and talked about books and projects. We both figure that if we don't get anymore rain, that we should be able to drive in on Monday or Tuesday. I seriously need to do laundry, as I have dirty clothes (in plastic bags) at the museum, in my Jeep, and at home. The publicity flyers for the Chautauqua gig arrived today, and there I am. I have time now to prepare for that. As soon as I can get TR out here I can start editing in earnest. Exciting times. He's downloading me into his new Apple, I told him to free-range for material for the opera, and he commented, a bit in awe, when he bought me lunch last Wednesday, that there was a lot of material. It's a huge file, three or four thousand pages. And I have a stash, another thousand or two pages at the museum and I find myself curious to see what I was writing about twelve years ago. I needed this shot, to focus my attention. B said he saw it coming because I wasn't writing, though a large part of that was power or phone outage, it was still true; I had stopped being fully engaged. I'd rather struggle and put some things on the line than not be fully engaged in the moment.