Lots of things got done yesterday: editing, Frost Place stuff, vacuuming, then writing in the evening. Plus, my strained back is almost normal again. 

Today I'm going to work my way through emails, then focus on Monson Arts planning and try to do some writing. I'll fit in my exercise class first, and probably I'll end up editing as well, but it won't be the feature of the day, as it has been for the rest of the week.

My brain is crammed. I feel like a giant walking list-of-things-to-do, dotted with worry about various suffering friends.

Plowing forward, plowing forward.

Last night I wrote a draft about a high-class Parisian whore, a captain of hussars, a wrought-iron balcony, jingling spurs. War and Peace is infiltrating my poems.