“…Nae quin! Nae laird! Nae master! We willna be fooled again!”
—battle cry of the pictsies of Discworld
The house is quiet, with only the sussurus of the air conditioner. The new dryer is biding its time in the garage, as our gas valve turns out to be, let’s say, vintage, and Special Parts must be ordered. (Fortunately for us, they’re not as Special as they might have been. But still.) In a fit of ambition Wednesday, I’d thought to join J for a second workout this afternoon… but I’m clean, and cool, and
did I mention it’s quiet here?
It feels luxurious.
Also, the journal that form-rejected three of my poems turns out to be hanging on to a fourth… I’d forgotten they took four and not the usual three. I’m savoring that with my attention, too.
For the moment there’s nothing to command my attention anywhere I don’t want it to go.
I think I’ll set my hand to one of the larger projects—irons in my fire—and hammer on it a while. I think I have a half-hour, perhaps an hour.
We’ll see how well I’ll be able to command my own attention tomorrow.
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