rolanni | Forty-two

So, it's raining, as it has been for the last few days. For a couple of those days, I had back spasms and was therefore zoned out on muscle relaxants and pain killers, which you'd think would make some things easier, but -- didn't.

I'm finding the wind and the rain unsettling, which is something of an about-face. I used to love wild weather. Well. Perhaps that's something for young people, who may not be overly worried about trees, or wires, coming down.

I was born during a hurricane, as my father told me, so maybe I had a predisposition, or even a kinship. I used to race the wind -- at first running; later in my car. I grew up in Baltimore, which was a thunderstorm-rich area. I loved the smell of ozone, and would stand outside to watch the lightning crackle across the sky.

The weather in Central Maine doesn't tend toward violent thunderstorms. We get your nor'easters -- wind and snow; wind and rain; your occasional sou'easter. Hurricanes, ayuh, we get those, too. And I find that I'm not a wind-junkie anymore, and that makes me sad.

In other news, I'm writing, slowly, and trying to stay on-topic. It's so very weird, not to print out the pages and leave them on the dining room table for Steve to read. Instead, I print out what I wrote every evening, so I can read it over my breakfast -- that works, pretty much. The worst part is when, mid-writing, I'll ask myself, "And why are we doing this, exactly?" -- it kind of derails the process.

Still, work is going forward, and I'll take progress.

Below, proof of coon cats being on the case.