The guy at the end of the block still has his Christmas lights going. Originally, I thought that the decorated tree looked like a butterfly, but now it looks like an outline map of the United States, or one of those night satellite views in which the cities are all lit up- except the tree shows a huge urban cluster in the Dakotas. And the lit-up bush now looks to me like a leaping Rhino wearing a costume covered in spangles. Yes, I definitely need to do something about my sleep schedule. Clearly, I'm beginning to hallucinate.
Charlie Chaplin's 1923 box-office failure, A Woman of Paris (he wrote and directed, but wasn't in it) is going to be on Turner Classic Movies at nine o'clock, PST. I've never seen it, so I think I'll watch, if nothing interferes. I will get to be in the warm living room, instead of here in this icebox with Sluggo.
It's terribly quiet tonight, with the rain gone (for the moment.) The cold air is redolent of wood smoke, from all the stoves and fireplaces in the neighborhood. The combination of the smell and the chill makes me picture a fire in a refrigerator. Yes, yes, fix the sleep schedule.