and just like sunlight coming through the blinds
How much time does it take?
Lie there still, and I'll kiss you
Oh, how I've missed you
Sleeper, awake...
John Wesley Harding in the (comparatively) late morning -- a good thing. I've been up for a couple of hours now: morning pages done to "Industrial Arts" again; coffee made, hugs with Jane, some dishes done, and I'm actually in my room again, before it gets a bit too hot. I should figure out whether or not I want to bring a fan up here, though today looks as if it will be the hottest day of the week.
The room needs cleaning again: I've dumped papers on the floor, and filled the bed with books and papers. Might be time to rearrange it, anyway; while we tend to keep the bedroom in a stable configuration (in part because the bed and bookcases are heavy, in part because it's easier on Soren), I tend to shift my spaces every so often. The morning light is coming in strongly through the windows, causing glare on the computer up here, so that's one major reason to reset it. Another is that if I want to have a room, I should use it, and perhaps moving things around will make me use it more often.
On another hand, I hope to be working soon, so I'll have less time up here, and when I'm home, I may well be downstairs with Jane and Soren more of the time. ("In which case," says a voice in my head, "shouldn't you make your space as appealing as possible?")
Soren seems to be improving, and Jane is going into the hospital at almost the ass-crack of dawn tomorrow. Skippy has been very demanding lately: if Jane isn't around, he's unhappy; when she goes out to the garden and he realizes it, he yowls for me to open the door. While Jane's away, and I'm out of the house, we expect him to be sitting on Soren's chest.
Me? I'm hanging on.
Still.