Sunday, November 7, 2010

Strange light

The light is strange here this morning. Perhaps it's just the time change, but the leaves of the trees just outside my window as I type are sherbet and gold and raspberry, backlit by rain cloud.

My weekend has been and will be a combo of fatigue-daze and Hild-days. Plus food. Always food. Yesterday was nut and lentil loaf, with a lovely white white and mushroom sauce. We watched Regarding Henry and I just spent the two hours watching Harrison Ford playing a man whose brain has been pulverised, nodding to myself. All novelists can imagine how it feels to get shot in the head and feel muddled and then shot through the sub-clavian artery and feel drained. Wuss, I thought. We do it every day.

Today's food? Well, that's a mystery right now--or, as we say in our house, a strong literary work with wide popular appeal. Yes, another writer's joke. Yes, I'm going now. Have a wonderful day. Enjoy your extra hour. Hurt only bad people.

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