Makes me think seriously about whether the limitations I've always thought are real for man my age in my situation and condition are after all real. Evidently, leaving Hollywood was a good idea. I'm brewing as much coffee as possible on the space heater as the gas is supposed to be cut off today. Tiny and the owner of the property agree for me to be here, but don't agree on who has possession of the property, so I do a lot of fancy footwork to avoid being caught between them. I finally finished the series I doing for The Guide, but haven't quite got all my fiction gears working.
Lights are the hassle.
On very cloudy days I don't get enough light at all. Ran into Clint, the muscleman, night before last. So he came over at the crack of dawn yesterday and spent most of the day drinking tail-ends of Tiny's beer and being reconciled to me. Drinking is a new twist for him, but he reconciles as good as ever. Evidently Billy has disposed of the carbon of my novel, so it may be lost for good.