I’m house sitting in yet another undisclosed location. This gig will last for several weeks. I feel so far away from home right now. I miss my cat.

Once again, I have the whole house to myself. I appreciate the quiet and the solitude.

There’s a dog here, too. She appreciates cuddles, and I also appreciate cuddles, so we’re totally set.

The cat will tell me when it needs something, and show me exactly what it needs if I follow it when it asks me to, so the cat is also totally set.

Staying far enough south of the city that I can see a whole bunch of stars, on clear nights. There are more of them up there than I’m used to being able to see. I can sit on and back porch and look up, and I just. I have no words.

Made a chocolate cake out of a suspiciously large zucchini that someone gave me at a music festival last week. Completely forgot that you’re not supposed to take food from strangers in case they turn out to be faeries with malicious intentions. To the best of my knowledge, no adverse side effects. Yet.

I’ve been doing my best with writing fiction again. For maybe the first time in my life, I have the whole shape of a story in my head – beginning, middle, and end. It’s not a story that wants to be told purely for its own sake, either – this one has more purpose or insight than I’m used to working with. It’s an awkward, bulky, badly tangled knot of a plotline at the moment but the overall shape seems straightforward enough. Which feels right.

Pretty sure this is all I want out of life. A quiet place to write, trees, a dog and a cat, and the stars.

Also cake.