1:56 a.m. Hear that sound? That clippety-clop sound of hooves fading into the distance? That's my high horse taking off. I gave him a good swipe on the sweaty flanks. And now I am back on my own two feet, and I am taking the high road! I am so relieved. I am lighthearted now and happy again.

I am not the type who likes to fight. I don't like to defend my position. I think it is unbearably rude to suggest that one's choices in life are somehow ... stupid? Wrong? Lame?

I also think it is the highest form of hubris to suppose you know what another person's life is like. Or that your way is preferable to their high or low way.

Yes, I'm talking about writing, and yes, I'm talking specifically about writing here in this online journal. It is a choice I have made, and it hasn't been an easy or a rash or a misinformed choice. My presence here, at what looks like the most minimal starting point for a writer, has given people pause.

You see, I've been to the mountain. I've been to the end of the rainbow. I've been on the other side of the mirror. And yet, here I am, writing a lowly online journal. Puny waste of my valuable time. No more lasting than spit on a fourth of July sidewalk.

Well. But, I'm not going to defend it. I'm not even going to try to explain it, except to say that each person approaches the day's meditation in his or her own way. A career is a series of maneuvers, and when you are nearly 53 years old and you have been writing professionally for just over 35 years, you have, let us say, certain skills and knowledge.

I would like to impart some of that knowledge to you now.

1. Do not kill a soul.

Whether by hectoring, lecturing, bullying, or browbeating into submission. You are never right about another writer. The most egregious mess of slop can, and often will, incubate greatness. And people never, never forget an unkindness.

Ok. That's it.

I could make you a longer list; I could tell you many practical bits and many esoteric tricks, but it always comes back to that one and only rule -- do not step on other people as you try to make your way. It isn't polite.

In other news. We had a little rain today. A second day in a row of the lightest of sprinkles, followed by that brilliant, justly famous California dreaming. On such a winter's day.

I had to get all dressed up and remain on standby most of the day, waiting to hear if we were going out to sign some papers in an official capacity, but it was not to be. So, I had the funny experience of being at my own tawdry workstation here at home in distinctly fancy office duds.

Crisp white sleeves shooting out of rich navy wool. Highly polished shoes. Combed hair. I sat up straight and didn't dawdle as much. In fact, I finally got through my email as though I were a real person at a real job with real responsibilities. I was even: perfumed!

And now, now that it's the middle of the night and my pretend work clothing is all brushed and hung back up. I'm still in a state of shock at how much I accomplished today in my Suzy stupor. I even got that longing feeling -- you know -- of wanting to be around people. Real, breathing people who can see me and see that I'm working.

But alas and alack, I'm back here in my fried-egg-print bathrobe and my Mickey Mouse jammies. It was fun while it lasted. I should have taken my own picture and pretended it was an office cam.

Yeah, so now it's time to go to bed. Luckily, I've got just the wardrobe for it.