Oh, my.

A day late, but not a dollar short: I have finally seen "Eleventh Hour."

I still miss Ten passionately, but this is going to be a new show. Completely different, mad, and gloriously fun. I think, so far, I'm fine with it. I'll have to see more, I suppose, to be sure. The show feels different somehow, but that could be because, in my mind, I was watching from behind the sofa the whole time. Not for the monsters, no-- for myself, and my fears and expectations.

Oh, and I also spent much of this evening texting with a complete stranger. A fourteen-- no, now fifteen-year-old girl who texted a wrong number. I had koi nibble my fingers. I flirted with a stranger. I had the booth broken down (my minions, glorious minions!, did the heavy lifting) in sixteen minutes. I went for a spin through Boston. No, Cambridge. No, Boston. I ate at a diner the size of a shoebox. I managed to get in several pages of my novel (over the weekend). I saw the lights on Wrigley Field on opening night.

This is my life, and I'm managing it.

And this is me, going to bed after a very full day.