February 18, 2021 White Days

I was thinking about pissholes in the snow. I told Terry a few weeks back, that Frank McCourt in, Angela’s Ashes, wrote that his inflamed eyes we’re like pissholes in the snow. BTW, my inflamed eyes are much improved owing to the good advice from my readers. In the snow, I’m reminded of the literal piss holes. After hearing the term again on an audiobook today, I looked it up. It refers to a hangover. I will not add a photo here.

We had a gorgeously perfect snow-covering this morning. I delayed the start of my run to continue reworking chapter one. By 10:00, I had completed the end of this three-day total reconstruction of the character, motives, and plot of this one chapter. A run was needed to ponder the effects of these changes on the next eighteen chapters,

Perhaps it wasn’t far enough to work out problems in my novel, but it was looking grim. Now I have grave doubts about the novel. I’ll work on some of my other work for awhile.

I was glad to see the sun return and bring features back to the sky.

My farm box didn’t arrive yesterday or today. The groceries I bought on Tuesday were to enhance my farm box order. I was hungry. I needed to pick through the fruits and vegetables at the store.