Spring, cleaning.

It's true: I started cleaning this afternoon. Now I can see my bedroom floor, and many more of the dishes are clean. I can't remember exactly when I just gave up on housekeeping. Most days, I care not even a little bit. Days like today, on the other hand, I want something different. Now it's a matter of racing the clock before I switch back over to the not-caring.

The combination of quippy and peckish and downright sarcastic that I'm feeling right now signals to me in flashing lights: It's time to go to sleep. Nothing else will come of this day. Tomorrow you can go back to your eyrie, your enlarger, your excitements. For now, rest.

Yes, yes. Indeed.

I have yet to tell you about Jim, the octogenarian I met Wednesday morning at the Village Coffee Company in Granville. I've been in the process of processing what happened there since the moment he and I parted: it was such a strange glimpse into another person's life. But that's going to have to happen tomorrow, or later. I want to do him justice.