The weather is still beautiful, if increasingly cold. I am unemployed. My kitchen isn't done and Paul is not answering his cell phone. I think I shall soon start parking outside his house and honking at 3 a.m.
I will be really glad when the election is over. And I don't even have a TV, my parents in Massachusetts are getting really tired of the Shaheen/Sununu (US Senate contest for New Hampshire) and I gather it's worse in-state.
My cats are well, although if you know anyone who wants a really nice, well-behaved cat who needs to be in a one-cat family, please let me know. Willow keeps attacking Marten and, wanting a quiet life myself, I am on his side. But Willow is very sweet to people.
I could be a lot more cheerful, even though I am in no danger of foreclosure or starving; even though I am not living as badly depressed a town as Springfield, Vermont, where I just went with Lisa-from-CA to visit her grandmother. It's a really pleasant mill town, specializing in precision gears. None of which are made in Springfield anymore. It seems wrong that that large a town could be so unable to provide an economy for itself, but it's a cash economy. Too cold to grow cotton, and though I have misgivings about industrialization, I don't really want to have to go back to making all my own clothes from the sheep and the hemp plant up. Gears are good to have, in many capacities; it's hard to produce them for a purely local market. It makes me want to go back to school and learn enough economics to figure out how many people it would take to have a fairly decent, independent civilization, one that includes advanced dentistry, progressive trifocals, computers, alpacas, and not too much pollution. And then I would want to break up into a bunch of those, with lots of communications with other states, and a high standard of human rights. In fact, I have read The Mars Trilogy too many times.
It is a mistake to expect a new administration will make everything all right, or even in the short term anything all right, but it sure looks like a chance for a change of boats in the middle of the Styx, at least. Between finances, what-should-I-do-when-I-grow-up-or-even-next-week? and a host of acute and chronic emotional embuggerage, a change seems like a good idea.