as if millions of tulips suddenly cried out in terror and were suddenly silenced

It's still snowing, people.


Mojie just sent me this photo from her front yard. I will be hibernating with my éclairs until Saturday, when it's supposed to be, I kid you not, 78 degrees.

& sadly the yachtsman is not around to pull me up by my bootstraps

I've started making myself a little schedule each night, in the hopes this will transform me from The Least Productive Person in the World into A Go-Getter Who Goes and Gets Things Done. Before bed every night I take out my high-tech iPaper and my iPen, I use a special font to write the day of the week, and then I make a little to-do list for the following day.

This worked for about three days, before the magic of the little schedules wore off. For example, today I did get up, I did walk the dog, and I did eat breakfast, at which point things stopped going according to plan. I did not do yoga, I wrote for about twenty minutes before I was distracted by a passing cloud, and I am not currently editing. Although the locksmith did come, which I'm going to consider my own accomplishment since it was on my goddamn schedule. I will also go to Amy & James's house, because it's a birthday party and there will be pie.

But I. Need. Serious. Help. Preferably in the form of a personal assistant.

(1) why? (2) yay! (3) wtf?

(1) The Trinidad Safeway, purveyor of lard but not tofu, is selling pre-peeled onions for $2.99/lb. Because taking the skin off is so hard?

(2) In other, unrelated news, we went to a dinner party on Saturday night with the gender re-assigner and her girlfriend. Love them. Love. Them. LOVE THEM.

(3) And in other other, unrelated news, two members of a theater troupe showed up at the convent, said they're scheduled to stay here, and moved in.

If this residency were all about meeting fun, interesting people, I would say it's a huge success. Nice accommodations? Less so. Lack of disruptions? Uh, no. Novel writing? No comment.