Random thoughts while reading in bed.
I really like the Show and Tell Fiction piece in the New Yorker.
I should count how many times the church bell rings at seven, but I don't think of it until it has been ringing for a while.
When I was little I thought of our front hall as the beach and the parlor (extra living room) as the Atlantic and I would wade in the imaginary water. Sometimes I would roll around on the rug and pretend the waves were coming in.
The huge hill at my kindergarten turned out to be only a slight slope when I was a teenager.
I wonder if congress will take mass shootings any more seriously now that some of them have been a victim.
I heard, but can't verify that the congressman hit voted against gun restrictions for mentally ill. I can't help think poetic justice, but feel badly I think that.
So glad my kid is still here.
Looking forward to Paris. Not sure what I should take for the awards dinner outfit.
Must remember to email my landlord about watering their flowers.
Should I wash the spread today.
If I get up now I will get some good writing time.