It’s sweatshirt cold this morning. Last night I dreamt about a murder in the woods, knowing that we are planning to go to a wooded park on the North Shore today. It wasn’t really a nightmare, somehow.
Three-eighths of binding done on C’s quilt. Agatha Christie Miss Marple the choice of the afternoon.
A 4.5 earthquake in Southern California hours ago. I wish people would stop asking, Can 2020 get any worse?
Because of course it can.
As much as the anxiety of these final weeks is a metallic tang in my mouth, I am also genuinely curious to see how the judicial nomination plays out. Careers will be made and lost over this.
*not my term. Twitter, of course.