What to do do on this fine and weird almost-full-moon Saturday?

clean a bit, drink this coffee; leave CNN on the TV as though my mere vigilance and concern can assist the world--more importantly Katie, who I am sure, as I was this morning when we dropped her at the airport, will be fine. I've found her flight on Houston Airport's website and will continue monitoring it to see when she gets into Lima, since she was insistent on NOT contacting us during the entire month she's gone, who knows if that will change with this new development, though it is funny to me, kind of funny--

anyway. I could read.. I have that book I bought, among others. One of Joe's magazines that still comes to the house arrived the other day, something for writers who write (are there magazines for writers who don't write? genius idea as I'm sure there are a lot of us. articles on how to cope, the horrible joy of staring at a blank page, etc; would name these articles but am not feeling witty)

I could write, but see above

work on music? YES PLS. I want to finish these songs and move on to the handing of them over to other people to add bits, fill them in.. but this incorporates writing, see above

I would like to get that camera working, I would like to clean the kitchen, I don't know that I would like to leave the house but it is an option

I would like for the light to stay longer today, I would like for the cold to dissipate and Spring to arrive; I am sure I will check my email too many times today and reach into my head to retain the dreams I had last night, so many, so deep, not as varied or ___ as they've been as of late. Linear, though still strange--I was THERE, I was IN them, the earlier dreams with the strange blond children and my mother, the chartering of the plane and the Lost references I'd be unable to explain, the entering of an elevator and the merging of doubles; Canadians; when in the bar in the later dreams, ducking the gunfire almost in slow motion, the sounds rattling in my ears, bursts of air and the flying debris stinging my face

the savoring of lips, a kiss with a man made of fiction [let's see that again]