Mice

Last night again I heard a strange schritch-schritch-schritching, seemingly under the floorboards, pulled away the drawers under the sideboard to see that the photo albums had mouse droppings around them. That is good news compared with my fear of a rat which would have meant poison in the storeroom, warning Dee to keep the cats safe, eco-worry etc. I set a trap, but we are off to shoot in Sacramento today, not back til tomorrow so won't check it until then. I washed my hands very thoroughly.

Suscipe was interested, of course, but I would rather not rely on her - especially as she seems so much brighter and calmer since de-worming. We have to cosset her, precious as she is to us.

It was sheer bliss to lie in this morning knowing how busy we will be tonight. I read William's blog, now in Ruby on Rails (and no, I don't really know what it means either), finished Dervish Daughter and drank coffee.

The house is unnaturally clean and orderly; my nails are of a decent length and clean, no bruises or scabs, my hands normal size. I attribute this to two weeks of house guests plus shoots in the middle. Is this how normal people live? Why am I so driven to build? Yet within hours of Daniel's leaving the sheets were drying in the sun, I had made another brew of kambucha and moved furniture back, so I love order for all it becomes stultifying so quickly.

Ideally, would I simply like more work? Different work, teaching? More adventure, more involvement, more energy? Another house to work on? All of the above?