nightnightnight

Well, I'm not quite going to sleep yet, I'm going to bed to read (reread actually--MT Anderson's wonderful Thirsty), and send out all the mental emanations I can that this week be better than last was. And on. I must also cop to the fact that I've accomplished nothing much this weekend, rather than a webjay playlist and a slow return to feeling more human. That means no email, no phone answering, etc. I'm hoping to really, really, really actually get to that stuff this week. And back to the new book. Etc.

Yesterday was quiet and even though the muscles in my back felt like they were on fire much of the time (for whatever reason), it was nice. Brooklyn Pizza for dinner, DVR'd Battlestar Galactica and Medium after and nice, nice wine from the new wine shop up the street. Back felt less flamey this morning, and it turned out to be a lovely day despite the fact it's bitter cold but snowless. A few friends (musicians, even) came over for a nice brunch of Christopher's from-scratch biscuits, eggs and fruit salad, then we went to a play about Lizzie Borden. Drinks after at the local place with the best pie in town.

Human, I feel. Off to read. And sleep like the dead must. More tomorrow.

If you're bored, go read Miss Borden's inquest testimony. (I just love the fact that the Fall River Police Department bills itself as "Lizzie Borden's Hometown PD." Perfect. Also, Kelly took me there once for research purposes--I should really turn that script into a YA--and we had the best Portuguese ever downtown. Should you ever find yourself rubbernecking the late 1890s, do find this place by sense alone.)

What the header says.