Patterns soothe

These are my mother's voodoo doodads. She was smart to keep the little stuff on a chain. 

I'm changing the scenery here for the first time in forever. Try to imagine your own bed a quarter turn from the way it is. What dreams may come?

The blue curtains will come down for something else. Something glowy. 

The pool wants to be cleaned and ready before it's warm enough. I need a landscaper. 

Such ambition. Without muscle, all I have to do is pay for it all. 

That would be luxury. So, small steps. 

I'm also trying to be a little more discriminating with what sort of input I use.

I recently rewatched the last couple episodes of:

Ozark

Madmen

The Sopranos

Breaking Bad 

Deadwood

all with an eye toward crafting a satisfying ending for the story I'm working on.

Conclusion? Crime cannot pay because people are weak and cannot be trusted. 

And "The arc of the universe towards justice is long and we must work to bend it." (paraphrasing Dr. Martin Luther King even if he didn't say it first.)

The self-care is easy. 

Music and/or silence every day until noon. 

Reading, making or writing. Trails are easy to pick up where I left off. 

    

There have been days that tease of summer. 

These colors just wrap me in their arms. This is how it starts each year. Soon, a dye inventory. And I get real about a non-fiction book. Dirty Threads. 

 My sister Patty ai'ed herself. She's not a blond...yet. Do it, Pat. But don't do anything that will get your mugshot put up in the post office. 

Aloysius Intercostal, Andre Iijiit, Armando Immactsia, Ash Ichor. 

What shall I call AI?

Do you have a name for it?