Life doesn't get any simpler, does it? More complicated, in fact. I sort of know what I want to get done each day but then I have to rely on my body, not to get too tired, and other people, not to make absurd requests, and the weather, to make everything possible, or at least pleasant. Everyone around me is waiting, not so patiently, for warm weather, for spring to arrive. "It's the waiting," someone said to me this morning. (Bleakly.) But we live in hope, ready to pounce on a sunbeam when it shines. In the meantime, we wait.

I should be grateful for the excuse, no, the necessity, to stay indoors and get lots of work done. but I don't feel like working. I have lots of thoughts crowding in and demanding consideration, but I'd have to muster enough energy to write them down. I don't feel like it.

Eating is not an acceptable alternative. Neither is sleeping, past a certain point. Swimming is good but I've done that. Walking is even better but I don't feel like it. Reading, okay. I just finished a book at one of my venues, and must assimilate it for a little while (half an hour?). I started a new one yesterday afternoon in the exercise room (on the recumbent bicycle, convenient for holding a book while I pedal), and it's waiting for me, later today.

Well, I've said it before and I'll say it again: this is not a blog, it's a bleat.

Steve Jobs would not be happy with me.