If you knew a single one of all the things that I've done

I am no longer in Providence. I am rather exhausted (read: there must be a brain in here somewhere), but I am very glad I went. See greygirlbeast for details.

Best thing I didn't expect to be told tonight by a stranger: "I love the brains of poets." She had been talking about Poe and Violet Jacob, but I had to restrain myself from asking whether she preferred them braised or sautéed.

With a serpent coiled under his collar

Happy Saint Patrick's Day. I am not catching a bus to Northampton to see the National Theatre's Frankenstein with teenybuffalo. I am, I think, trying not to move very much. I may go outside, where it's sunny and almost springlike, and bask. I can see the swans are back on the reservoir.

Comments notification appears to be finally un-borking itself, however, so at least I can catch up on conversations I've missed. And there's always the hope of a repeat broadcast.

P.S. Caitlín has posted photographs from the last two days of editing deathmarch. I rather like the one of us on the couch. The train station, however, I really should remember not to try to talk when people are taking my picture.