Lately, instead of writing at night I’ve resorted to rising early in order to revisereviserevise certain projects and I’ve realized:

The loudest sound in the house at 5am? Despite our small zoo? And the programmable coffee maker’s generous peeps? And the refrigerator creating Arctic ice floes, cubed? My fingers on the Lenovo’s keys–until my husband returns from his pre-dawnlit jog with the labrador, both bursting into our house with wild jangles and stampings and a whoosh of crisp air that will be stale and spoiled and 95 degrees in only a handful of hours, in March, i.e., March-the-Inferno, in Global Warming, which, as we all know, doesn’t exist (keep reading).

And here is what I’m reading:

Lorrie Moore blurbs it. Must be true. I hope.

And here is what you’re not reading (although if you are, you know, let me know–I haven’t started it yet):

Right on!

And here is one of the best links you will ever click on, whether you believe in Global Warming or not–because you simply cannot argue with the ocean. If you don’t ‘get’ that you cannot argue with the ocean, I suggest you find a leaky skiff immediately and launch it towards a very blue (Atlantic, Pacific, whatevs) horizon–with a professional on board who will lecture about life vests and tidal currents and provide you with everything Robert Redford had in ‘All Is Lost’.

Oh–and thank you. For getting in the fucking boat. (Excuse me)

Yours in cold-water-soaked-washcloths-perpetually-standing-by-on-the-nightstand,

PB