Billy is splayed out, four feet in the air, next to me on the red couch. The cats have been fed.

There is an awful lot of smoke inside the house right now. I should air it even tough it is cold outside.

There, done- the patio door is cracked open and the heat is off.

What to do with all this free time if I dont write fiction nor poetry nor draw and paint anymore?

These days, i correspond more with people. that is how much I write.

Not that much.

The sky is blue right now and the sun is slowly going down on the horizon.