Nothing is going to get to me today. I'm so determined to make the best of a good situation that I won't even acknowledge the possibility of a bad situation. I'm smiling till it hurts, because crying hurts more. So: only good things. First in a series. I hope.

Although the electricity was off for an hour and a half last night, and although it came back on at exactly three o'clock in the morning (which would lead me to believe in a conspiracy, if there were any reason to conspire to have the power return exactly and precisely on the hour), I had a decent night's sleep, much better than the night before when man's power was turned off by nature's power.

(And by "man," I mean, of course, "man." In the old-fashioned non-gender-specific sense. So as not to offend anyone of any gender. Which I'm sure I have anyway. Sorry.)

The reason I slept better last night is simple. I was exhausted from being up most of the previous night. When I'm too tired to race around the house obsessively resetting all the clocks, it's a good thing. I sleep straight through my obsession. And in this case, I didn't even bother to set the clocks until I'd been up for— well, I don't really know how long, do I? Because the clocks weren't working. Let's call it fifteen minutes. Or we can call it an hour and fifteen minutes, if that's more impressive.

I still needed a nap this afternoon, but it was okay, because I found time to take one. A quick one, late in the day, which might keep me up later tonight. But this is about good things that happened today. Let's not borrow any trouble for tomorrow.

The latest version of the interminable project is finally done. It took about eight and a half times as long as it should have, simply because I was trying to read Tim's mind instead of the Boss's. I've been working with the Boss for seventeen years, so I know what he's trying to say before he even thinks of it. This is all new to Tim, this notion that in order to be understood you have to express yourself clearly.

We got through it, though. The last draft of the letter was finally something that I could live with (grammar-, spelling- and syntax-wise), and something he thought conveyed the meaning with as little ambiguity as possible, but as much as necessary. (And doesn't that sentence belie any concern I might like you to infer I have for syntax? Or clarity, for that matter?)

At long last and after many tortuous twists and turns, this lousy three-page letter is written and sent. Such relief is felt throughout the land that flowers are blooming and birds are singing. Maybe they would be anyway, but I can't be sure.

I had coffee with a friend this morning, and we talked about art and politics (among other things). David dropped by this afternoon and we talked about football and Big Brother (among other things). A good day all around. Got it?