Feeling much better. The infection which had me spending several evenings last week soaking my nose in hot salt water has cleared up; my editor gave the go-ahead that yes, this is the way she wants Homeland re-written; the weather has been lovely. My favorite blood-red roses are blooming. I was able to spend the day in absolute solitude, with the promise of a quiet weekend ahead.
I may take the day off work (for once) and spend tomorrow sewing and cleaning up the study, a frightful task. It's far too easy to settle down to play with PhotoShop... and have the whole day disappear, the adult equivalent of losing oneself in one's colorbook and crayons. Probably because Homeland is so much about the relationship between fiction and emotional survival, I've been reading a great deal of Dickens lately, an author I've never sufficiently appreciated: having just polished off three of his novels in a row (plus Sketches) I suspect I'm in for a backlash. (I remember going through about five Raymond Chandlers -- halfway through the fifth I threw the book against the wall and said, "For God's sake, get some therapy!")
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barbara_hambly) wrote,
