It is evil cold, in your bones cold, nose hair freezing cold, pipes under the sink frozen cold. I dreamed it was hot summer and I was painting a big white house with my brother and some friends. Then I woke up with frigid cold air sneaking around the windows and under the door.
My wife and I went to the Home and Garden Show in Indianapolis, or as I like to call it, the March of Recrimination. You see a happy woman walking with an unhappy man or two happy men walking together but never one happy woman and one happy man.
It seems like things break down in threes. My water heater quit and then the blower on my furnace seized up in the middle of the night, making for an unpleasant morning, and then the other day my over caught on fire and the broiler coil burned itself out like a fuse, looking like a twisty sparkler.
It is reading time and watching movies time and hunkering down to drink coffee time.
In the meantime there is always the potential for new projects on the horizon, and some day, the sun.
And more good news is that it looks like the writer's strike might be over. In case anybody asks later I didn't scab. After seven scripts in '07 I had wanted to take the end of the year off anyway so it's almost like the WGA consulted me, which is nice to think about.
Ice and snow and freezing rain are coming down and the soup is on the stove. Until later I am at johnoakdalton@hotmail.com.
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