Happy stuff is boring; that is the problem.

I've spent two nights this week sleeping on my porch. Or balcony. What do you call a balcony that is just an inch off the ground? I haven't figured this matter out. My barely-balcony is quite large, and has the novelty of being completely screened in. On it, I have a comfy sofa-type thing that is not too indoorsy to look right out there. Both nights got cold, but I stayed warm under my blankie. The birds start going nuts before the sun even comes up; it's beautiful. I felt very wild out there, waking up like that. Everything seemed in a deeper perspective than I can remember since early childhood.

But alas, I have screwed up my bank balances again, and must run to put out fires. For ten years I paid my sister to handle all my finances; this is only my third pay period on my own, and again another stupid blunder. I was meant to be rich.