Terribly sleepy, as it was a lovely yet full day slightly muddied by lack of sound sleep. Yes, it was one of those nights. At 4 a.m., Christopher finally lost patience and went upstairs to tell the hippies to knock it the fuck off. It turned out the indiscernible music they were listening to was Willie Nelson, which would be cool, if they weren't horrible and hadn't been drumming to it. He overheard the hippy chick (just like the song, only worse) say, after banging on the door to get their attention for a few minutes, "Now you gotta be brave, man."

Right. I'm thinking that's the worst advice I've ever heard. The "bravery" in question seemed to involve sorta kinda drumming softly for a few more minutes with the music.

The only good thing about these neighbors (and again, if you're reading this, I don't mean +you+, I mean the +other+ hippy neighbors (wink)), is that they will in fact knock it off if you ask. Not that they ever remember we have to get up ungodly early to get to work and yada yah. But still. Small favors and all.

Didn't mean to do that. I'm tired. We went for a drive along parts of US 68, which figures prominently in Christopher's book, and is one of the most beautiful drives I've ever been on. The place where Shaker Village at Pleasant HIll is really is one of the most beautiful, green places on Earth. Sky and buildings and ground in perfect harmony with each other.

Saw some of his family, and some cows, then drove home. I spent the morning printing out scripts and writing charming cover letters and when we got home we packaged them up.

Carnivale seems to be picking up steam. Finally.

Contacts getting sticky. Must stop typing now. I am so behind on email, I apologize to everyone who's written me in the last three weeks.

I do, however, have fuzzy yellow slippers.

earworm: "Pink Moon," Nick Drake

random rec: getting a professional to do your laundry, even if she doesn't have any teeth

namecheck: John "EV" Klima