Polly's brother Matt is headed back to Iraq for his third tour, and the local paper was there to cover it. I wish him and all the other troops the best of luck. I'm trying to think of what else to say about the war, but it's all been said.
More snow and rain and ice here. And wind. Half the state has been declared a disaster area. The electric company has their station a few blocks from where I liv, down at the river, and for the last few days, around the clock, crews have been loading up with new utility poles and new lines to replace the hundreds lost to the storm. They depart the ball park they're using for a staging area en masse, so you have lines of utility trucks and crane trucks, 20, 30 at a time. The weather has made doing anything or going anywhere difficult, and since I was sick the week before, weeks before really, I haven't done a damn thing. I'm a little stir crazy right now. I thought about going to the movies today to see Black Snake Moan, but I doubt it now. I don't mind the snow, but I have holes in my horrific shoes and I can't afford new ones. Or the movies, either, but I guess distraction is more necessary that footwear in times of need.
I'd stay home and write, but the juice isn't flowing there, either. All my lines iced up and fell down. I haven't been able to concentrate or fix on writing for more than an hour or so a day, and it usually takes me an hour to get into it. I have difficulty starting anything new. Everything I do write feels kind of flat. No fizz. Bothers the hell out of me. There's beeing cooped up in your house because of snow, and there's being cooped up in your head with nowhere to go. The latter is far more worse and like a David Fincher movie.