I am awake too early. My brain clicked out of a sound sleep into worry worry worry mode, and by 4:30 I gave up and came downstairs to make coffee.

But the new snow outside is beautiful, falling slowly, slowly under the streetlights . . . a thin and perfect coat, with not a tire track to mar it. I hope all of the children and all of the teachers get the snow day they deserve.

I may take one myself, at least from editing. I am tired from a night of picky manuscript dream-corrections, sniping conversations with with dream-authors, the panicked forgetting of dream-job assignments, and such. A clear case of editing brain overload.

But I've got plenty of other things to do: class planning, housework, chicken-soup making, Dante copying, a stack of writing prompts from my salon friends, which I'd like to dip into today. Plus snow shoveling, no doubt.

For the moment I am trying to pretend that I want to be awake, and I'm not doing too bad a job at it. I've just ordered Sarah Ruden's translation of the Aeneid, which is what Teresa and I have settled on reading next. I am loving our travels through the epics, via the voices of women translators. It's been satisfying work.

Still, sometimes I think I try too hard, sometimes I think I don't try hard enough, sometimes I think sentences with comma splices are the only way to convey a seesaw, second-guessing mind.