Home, and traveling nowhere for the next two weeks. Home, with no editing project hissing on the burner, and no housecleaning today because I already did that earlier in the week, and walking out to the library to pick up a new novel to read, and baking something or other, and going out to write tonight with my friends, and also, admittedly, driving the car to the garage to find out what-the-hell with the continuing loud noise, but at least I am home and not stranded on an unfrequented route in the wilds of the central Maine forest.

On Tuesday my friend said, "You look tired," and my response was "I am always tired"--for the past month everything has been exhausting, whether or not I've been sleeping solidly. But last night, after T and I came home from the movies, I realized that I suddenly felt light and joyous again. We'd gone to see It Happened One Night, a hilarious pre-code flick starring Claudette Colbert and Clark Gable, much of it set in 1930s Greyhound buses and motels, and it was just so goofy and sweet, and the crowd gathered around us in the dark was so happy to be watching it, and T and I were cuddled together on a couch, also so happy, and afterward, as we drove home through the rain, with the city Christmas lights puddling in the wet reflections of the windshield, I was giddy with pleasure . . . thank goodness for the small joys--a happy movie, a wet night, a warm hand in mine.