I am so mixed up. What with scrambling my brains working on this screenplay (well, the synopsis and treatment so far), and watching baseball at night, I forgot it was the World Series I was watching. I asked Siri this morning when the Series starts, and she/it told me that the KC Royals won the Series last night. I knew that. I stayed awake through the extra innings. I tried to leave it but I couldn't. Even so, I was in the pool at six. I have a lot to do and it's pushing me.

I used to think I'd be at leisure by the time I was 80, able to pursue dreams I had never realized. Well, I'm not fast enough to pursue anything in the hope of catching it, but I also don't have any leisure. Oh yes I do. I remind myself what a good life I am having and don't forget it. Much of what I do is my choice, like watching baseball till all hours. And even though I'm working hard, I still find time to read - as I pedal, every afternoon, as I eat breakfast, every morning (different books), and as I relax with my iPadMini, in the afternoon, with a high-class bodice ripper (The Outlander). I know I am not hard done by and I am not complaining.

I read somewhere that people are living so much longer now that it's like adding five hours a day to their life span. I've already lived longer and where are those five hours? I could use them right now.

More anon - like tomorrow.

I seem to have forgotten yesterday, October 31. I had some internal (not physical but psychic) problems going on and I had to assimilate them. I think I have regained my focus and equilibrium now and we can go on not as we were but as we will be, as we continue to try to be. That's a royal "we", quite deliberate. We all have problems to acknowledge and absorb.

Which brings us to today, the first of November. I miss my former lake home on a day like today: rusty leaves clinging to the trees, reflected in the cold, open water of the lake, grey sky the same colour as the lake, cool air inviting hibernation by the fire. That's what I miss: fire. In my own fireplace. I go to Ste. Anne's Spa every winter, not for the "treatments" with their vicious assaults on one's face and body, but for nodding by the fire ("old and gray and full of sleep"). I book one of the few rooms with a fireplace and I warn them I will burn up all their profits. (As if!)

I do have silence. Even though I am across the Valley Road from Bloor Street, it's quiet on an early Sunday morning and this morning the time has receded an hour. People are either confused or revelling in an extra hour of sleep. So it's quiet. I used to comment, at the lake, when I listened to the silence, that the loudest noise was the sliding of my pen on paper and that I could hear my thoughts sticking to the roof of my mouth. Now, here, the loudest noise is the gentle thumping of my fingers on the laptop keyboard. As for my thoughts, they are being very insistent today, demanding my attention to make up for lost time (no blog!),

So we'll go no more a'roving; "the heart must pause to breathe."

(Please note; I hereby acknowledge my quotations from W.B. Yeats and Lord Byron.)