I intend to get to bed early, catch up on the sleep I've been losing to plumbing emergencies and the insistant nagging of my mercurial muse. But joy calls, and who am I to deny? So now it is late, but my painting is nearly finished and my heart is happy, and South Dakota be damned.


(Ah, except I must take my own advice: love is either absolute, or it isn't. Compassion isn't selective, or it isn't compassion. If I am to love the world, it must include leaky pipes, loud neighbors, and the governor of South Dakota. That, or I am only loving that which pleases me, and that's a love so easy as to hardly deserve the name. Besides, what good can it be to counter fear with fear?)