Day 17.

It rained last night, and now the snow has been reduced to sort of a sloppy film on the world. The patch of open water has exploded outward and, when I went out this morning to get wood, I was startled by the amount of bird chatter going on. It's gray and chilly, although well above freezing, and there's not a soul on the lake.

I got a whole lot of nothing done yesterday. I went out to chop up the last of my whole aspen logs and in the process pulled something in my shoulder, and I couldn't seem to make words on the page, so I essentially sat around and ached, did some dishes and ate leftovers and watched DVDs while feeling sorry for myself. I gave myself another bath to the sound of the rain droning on the metal roof, then turned in early and slept for 10 hours. Despite the dreariness, I have "We All Shine On" stuck in my head. At this point, I think the ghost of Lennon is mocking me.

I'm going to start letting my fire go out during the day, since I'm concerned that I'll run out of wood and then get caught in a spring blizzard. So I'll build it up in the morning, let it burn for a few hours to dispel the cold that set in during the night, let it die, then build it again when it gets dark. Like an incredible dumbass, I left my boots on the deck last night, to guard my mother's carpets from mud, but now they're soaked through. I actually poured water out of them, which I then boiled and used to do dishes this morning, just like the pioneers did. They're drying in front of the fire, and they better hurry up, because I'm sort of dying to take a walk. More rain is supposed to roll in later, so I'd like to get some air before it does, then jump back into the book.