It's freezing in my apartment. Heat's off for some reason -- don't know why, but it's the second time this month. No hot water, thus no shower. Just as well, though: I'm very crabby, and this gives me something to be crabby about. I'm almost at the point of starting a new book: this level of crabbiness is a sure sign of that. I remember reading years ago about Simenon that he had only two states of being: he'd be working on a book, when he'd be feverish and miserable, or he'd be between books, when he'd be restless and miserable.

On the other hand, as cold as it is in here, sunlight is pouring in, outlining the leaves of the window jungle.