Singing to the dawn

It's cold, but I have my window cracked open anyway.  Someone was smoking earlier. I can hear the morning song of robins and the slow increase of traffic outside. It's Saturday, so less now than usual. It's just past 7 am. I've been up since 4 am. I wrote some and am trying to finish a book, by restarting it again since I had misplaced it and can't remember what I'd already read. I think I might have been almost done.  So do I go to the art museum or to check out the "brush-eating goat!"? I have a party later, maybe I'll just fall back asleep.  I won't be asked what I thought, and so I won't have to answer. And in a way, that's a relief, I don't have anything to say.

Well, the goats were a no-show, so I helped to clear knotweed and blackberry for awhile then went to the museum and later took pictures of beautiful trees (film). Ate lunch in a place where I saw a cockroach run around a table-top and finally wandered over to the birthday party. And how sad is it that 20 people want me to be in their company and I'm pining over the one that doesn't? I need to keep myself occupied. Still, better to feel than to not feel.