Poor Lytton, poor me. For the past five days Lytton has had diarrhea (if you'll pardon my directness) and it has not been pleasant for either of us. I called the vet yesterday and the technician gave me the advice I expected; to feed him rice and boiled meat or chicken. I had already been doing that to no avail. However, today he is finally better. I woke up this morning without any foul smell assaulting my nostrils, even though he had jumped down off the bed several times during the night--a very bad sign. I sat up and looked around with trepidation, squinting without benefit of contacts, but saw no telltale dark spots. I forsaw a morning free of paper towels, soap, disinfectant, and queasiness. So far that has been the case. Life is good.
Today I am faced with a day without appointments. I have been longing for such a day for weeks, but I find myself now wondering what to do with it. I feel fidgity, my mind flitting from one possible activity to the next. It is raining slightly, creating a somber atmosphere conducive to cooking something that smells wonderful, like turkey or bread or soup. My house is in great need of cleaning, but that seems too mundane for such a special day. I need to get going on my chicken house remodling poject, but that, too, will happen wether I have a day off or not. I need to think of something that I otherwise would not have time to do. There are two portraits to start, as well as the blueberry field series to work on. I want to do a linocut. I need to practice the recorder, and I want to get going on learning the alto, try the violin again. On the lazier side, I could finish my excellent book and go to the library, or watch my movie on the Emperor Penquins. I could get out my DVD and immerse myself in "Northern Exposure." I could change my bed and do a few loads of laundry. I could take a long, hot bath and moisterize myself afterwards---maybe even shave my legs! The world is open to me and I am stymied.