• Location: Woodstock, NY
• Mood: not well
• Music: Iron and Wine, "Each Coming Night"

"Give me your hand, and take what you will tonight. I'll give it as fast." (22 Vicodin)

If I survive this winter – and I will – I am done with the Northeast, forever more. Seeing what's going on in Boston, and knowing the mess that Providence is, I'm just grateful to have this cabin to hide in at the moment. At least I have the mountain and the trees. But the snow (it fell all day again yesterday) is beginning to feel like something wrapped about my throat too tightly. An odd analogy, but the first thing that came to mind. The ground has become a mirror of the sky, only stark and white rather than stark and blue. The ground is a featureless white in all directions, with hardly more than the trees to allow me to make sense of up and down.

I've done my time in the cold. I don't have to do this ever again.

I'm holding these thoughts like a rosary.

Currently, it's 13˚F, with a windchill of -12˚F. We have a windchill warning. This is February. Spring should be just around the corner. It isn't, not here.



On Wednesday, we're going to try to make it back home for one night.

---

Yesterday, I wrote A, B, C, and D on "The Aubergine Alphabet," 1,272 words. Part One, A-M, will be in Sirenia Digest #109. Toady, I need to get back to work on the screenplay. We'll see,

We've been watching Season 7 of Mad Men, the final season. I can't help but feel as if I understand it too well. The world has moved on, which is what the world does, and it's left me behind. The world I understood is gone, and this world makes no sense to me, and I want nothing to do with it.

I read "Tacuarembemys kusterae, gen. et sp. nov., a new Late Jurassic–?earliest Cretaceous continental turtle from western Gondwana."

And that's all for now.

Until,
Aunt Beast