Yesterday, during my 8 a.m. exercise class, the teacher noted that we'd been at this for six months, which amazed me. Have I actually managed to show up three times a week and do this painful hard thing I don't enjoy doing? I can hardly believe I've had so much gumption.

I'll be back at my editing desk this morning, and maybe I'll be home alone for a little while too, as I think Paul is planning to go hiking somewhere. Fortunately, I crammed yesterday full of vacuuming and bathroom cleaning and mowing and trimming, so I won't have waste today breathlessly juggling chores and job . . . other than the usual chores of laundry and cooking and watering and maybe a little bit of weeding, if time allows.

Last night I roasted a chicken, made mashed potatoes and giblet gravy and a big salad with fresh greens, and ended the meal with homemade orange ice cream and sugared blueberries. So today I'll boil down chicken stock and serve noodle soup for dinner . . . easy day 2 of the three-day chicken pattern. Maybe all of this non-chore time will give me a brief space to work on revisions, or read the Odyssey in the hammock, or ride my bike in the cemetery, or doze on the couch with the cat.

I'm just remembering now that I had a dream about a famous poet, except I don't remember who he was, or why he was talking to me, or whether I was a poet too.