I don't ask that question often but I really do wonder where I am. Or when? Maybe when. I spent too many hours today watching catch-up episodes of a TV series that had been recommended to me by someone whose judgement I respect. Well, la di dah. (Is that how you spell that?) Maybe it was an overdose but I felt totally disoriented by the time it finished. This is not the world I grew up in. There, that's her age speaking, you say. Well, yes, I guess it is. I still have a moral compass and the needle was spinning as I watched this show. I have to think about this, about my naiveté and about others' cynicism, not to say callousness. I'm a writer but I can't write like that. So maybe my question is not where am I but where is my audience? Or who? And when am I going to do something about it? Is it too late?

I've said it before and I'll keep on saying it. Life is so daily. Even when i'm not, it still is. I've lost two days: One, I went to Stratford for a double header. That plus the trip there and back ate up the whole day. Ate me up, too. Two, I was tired, not good for much, nothing to justify my existence. So I must check in today, Day Three, no excuse. (Hello!) I wore a two-piece Tilley dress to Stratford, with a Shetland sweater to protect me from air-conditioning. The Tilley is so old that no one recognizes it as a Tilley Endurable any more, the design is so different. It's old, but then it always has been, almost from its first summer. I bought a new one this summer, one-piece, and it was old the minute I put it on. I usually know that this is something I'll wear forever or until it wears out, whichever comes first. I love instant old clothes, that fit so well or work so well that you'll wear them forever, or until they don't fit you. Most of mine fit because there's leeway in the elastic waistlines. It pays to have leeway.

Well, that was today. Anon, anon.