Quiet Sunday morning, pottering about in my Global Warming Killed Frosty t-shirt, tending to dogs, making coffee, arranging photos of debris I took last year, feeling like I should be doing more art despite the fact that, realistically, objectively or relatively, I'm already doing quite a lot.

Ran out of work to do yesterday, there's a wide variety of stuff on the horizon, but I'm contemplating a possible two weeks of basically uncommitted time, it's strange, though, of course, in many ways, it's a return to normal.

Maybe some music.

OK, a few weeks into the not smoking thing & I'm officially wussing out. Had a cigarette a little while ago from ancient half pack I found while doing laundry & my back now feels better than it has for a week and a half. Screw it.

The dogs heartily disapprove, and, honestly, I do too. Sigh.

L.'s gone to the island to see the kid's new band.

"Alone Again/Or" on Pandora, toaster gorditas with sour cream & Frank's Red Hot, dogs want dinner, dogs want out, trying to get into the swing of this new work task.

Going to go out to see some music in a while, maybe. More of that tomorrow & tomorrow & tomorrow.

Chilly feet. Despite excessive coffee, could use a nap.

Sleeping funny, unsettled stomach, seems like old times.

Got a really wonderful load of snow dumped on us yesterday, soon our sidewalks will be tunnels, dare to dream.

Scattered, making work difficult, or working difficult, anyway, anyway.

Dogs are bored with it.

A couple days ago, quit smoking as I had intended to do about four years ago, before events intervened, as they do.

Understandably, then, feeling a bit loopy. Having lots of snacks, water.

L. has gone south for a day of felting, indie rock, etc. Meanwhile, on the couch with itchy eyeballs, X-Files marathon.

Outside, lovely white snow.

Nice new year's, L. made donuts with rum cream, yum.

Woken early by dogs, fell asleep again to 2001.