and the snow has been falling since 2:30 this afternoon, fat lazy flakes in no particular hurry to reach their final destination. I am driving slowly home. I am writing these sentences in my head, to write down later. I remember that this is how I used to write, in the old days, as I fell asleep, writing and re-writing until I had a paragraph or two, until finally I had written too much to carry and turned on the computer to put it down.
The snow is beautiful. Hardly anyone on the road. Driving as meditation.
At home, I warm up leftover chicken soup--the comfort of chicken soup makes up for my lack of cooking skills. Afterward I warm up a glass of Irish Creme. This may be the best idea I've ever had.
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