This week, I half-watched / half-napped my way through a backlog of sappy chick-flicks. My animals gleam from long sessions of petting and brushing. (They’ve taken full advantage of my constant availability on the sofa.) The house, beyond my small recuperative area, feels weirdly unfamiliar. I’ve run out of clean fleece in which to swaddle myself.
I’m ready to not be sick anymore.
Today, I managed to watch Dementia 13 without falling asleep. (Probably because, earlier, I crashed during the second half of The Thin Man.) I ventured into the kitchen to make a pan of brownies. This evening, a riotous, southerly wind came up and I had to go outside – albeit briefly, and wrapped in a blanket – to enjoy the tumult. I must be feeling better.
Francis Ford Coppola’s directorial debut: Dementia 13 at IMDb.