I last left the house Thursday night. I should go back to work on Daughter of Hounds today, but, knowing the cold is coming, I don't think that I can. Instead, I may go to Emory, or somewhere else.
I feel rather lost at the moment.
We'd thought about going to the NIN/Dresden Dolls show in May, but the show — two shows, actually — sold out in about three minutes. Which is just as well. Concert tickets are grostesquesly overpriced, and I can hardly bear the crowds anymore. It is good to see how well the Dolls are doing, though.
An e-mail from Spooky's father this morning. He's in Alaska again, doing field work on Little Diomede Island in the Bering Strait, maybe fifty miles from the Arctic Circle (to the north) and Russia (to the west).
I cannot escape the sensation that I should be somewhere else.