Because for the 14, 367th time I had been considering deleting this blog until I took into consideration that there are only 7 more days till New Year's and if I wait until then I can make it a resolution. Probably by that time I will be in a slightly better humor because the days from here on out, thank God, are only getting longer. And I will resolve to answer e-mails, and to write more but not so much about myself, and not be sad, and most of all to eat a lot.
John is home for the holiday we don't speak of. The men and boys are on ladders and tractors and trailers cutting and carrying the dead limbs from the silver maples and the ash trees. I would like to go out but I can't watch that. I would probably cry and Dad wouldn't like it but I couldn't help it because I didn't get enough sleep to keep myself together, though I dreamed. I love my dreams. Hardly ever the sleeping ones but the ones that are mine when I am lulling tired and have music all around, dreamy dreams of colours and warmth in whispers and soft dreams and silly dreams and music dreams. There is some music that always wants to break me inside, something core deep under my ribs and behind my heart, a heavy bewildering thing that could break into a million shimmers of feeling if only I will let it.