Hurricane Sandy is tossing about the leaves outside. It is chilly and grey, but other than windy, it's still calm outside.
Inside, Emily staid home as classes were cancelled at Stonybrook. M has a cold and would have staid home even if the library hadn't closed down. I'm going to guess that looking for work will be slow today since no one is really working today. The wind gusts are getting more intense and a little tornado of brown crackling leaves just blew by. The wind is a crazed sheepdog sending the flock hither and thither.
I put more diatomaceous earth on Cooder and Emmy yesterday. Emmy is not having a good reaction and we are finding clumps of hair around. I am considering giving her a bath to get it off of her. She doesn't seem otherwise unhappy. I think the fleas are going down fighting. Worrisome, still. She's still mostly scampering about in the usual way, and her appetite and drinking are fine, so I suppose it's okay, but this is probably not the best remedy for her.
For awhile, I was the first person up in this house. Lately though, it has been the smell of coffee wafting forth that brings me to consciousness. I'm still processing the last six or seven weeks. I have trouble remembering who I saw and who said what when, as I have seen many people from various cross sections of my life lately.
Well, a little Ezekial raisin bread and hot honey water later, and I think I might be able to get caught up on some shut eye (I wrote "shut up" first). There's that American flag across the street a-wavin' in the wind.
And all I actually have to offer as a writer, is my version of life. — Anne Lamott
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