3:19 p.m. (That's right -- it's daytime!)

I am incapable of cheating, I tell you that. I am not built that way. I said I might go back and add something clever to yesterday's entry to appease my soul and forestall undue criticism from those who think we should only write when we have something wonderful to say ...

... but I've committed myself to writing here every day, no matter what. I think it's an interesting challenge. I also think it's a good record of what a writer goes through when trying to switch from the mind that simply piggybacks on top of the body to the mind that actually pulls the heavy loads across the gravel. Some days, some evenings, that mind just wants to crawl in the corner and sleep.

Last night was one of those days. Today is not one of those nights. Stand back! I'm cooking.

It's still raining, and I'm vicariously watching the snow fall in other people's journals: Lynda's kids are frolicking and Sandy's all snowed in ... I'm sure that Elspeth is wiping cold noses and Steve is throwing another log on the cozy fire to keep away the "deep bad crazy scary cold" (tm). And that's Steve's tm, not mine. I've only got the memories.

Oh, but I miss the snow. Catherine has been banked in for weeks now, but she's Canadian, and you know what that means.

1:17 a.m. And now, it's night. Again. Things have taken a difficult turn. For one thing, I think we have a new species of rodentia, and this one -- is BIG. Based on the tell-tale trail of whoa! that I saw this afternoon from the bathroom, through the bedroom, and out into the hall ... I'm afraid it's payback time.

Maybe he's just passing through on his way to Dodge city?

And for another thing, I thought I was getting ahead of things here, but alas. There is something big and huge and ruinous in my email program and it's blowing out my entire system.

I've been on the phone with the tech people from my cable company, and isn't it great that they work at night, but isn't it sad that they now have to kick me up to a higher, deeper level of technical help that's not currently available.

In a day or two a tech person will call me back. I have a ticket number. I clutch it to my heart and I hope. Meanwhile, I can receive no mail from the cable side of things, but maybe from the old EarthLink side, so if you have an emergency, try:

and I might get it.

Oh gloom and misery. To be cut off so abruptly! I didn't realize how much I loved being connected ... now that the link is severed. Something is terribly terribly wrong with a piece of mail, in fact it's number 6 in the cue. That much I found out before all hell exploded throughout my system.

So, I apologize in advance for suddenly going radio silent. I suppose now I'll have a chance to catch up on even more boring work ... but to those of you who are writing Metajournals articles for the Opinions section (and you know who you are) ... keep writing.

It's got to come back, right? That's what tech people do, right? My own daughter is a sysadmin now, but even she can't help me because I can't receive any email!

Maybe it was my mom. Maybe she tried to send me a really long letter. I did find out that Mac users can't receive a piece of email larger than 3 megs, for what it's worth.

Well. so I'm back to one-way communication. This is just like the old days when I would send a just-completed novel off to my agent. I remember sending one out just ahead of a huge snow storm and then waiting, and waiting ... and waiting for a response.

Was the phone broken? Were the lines down? Did the truck have an accident and maybe the mail never got through. Maybe she'd met with foul play? Maybe she got stuck in traffic and then she lost my number and then she got held up on the way back into her apartment and then she fell down the stairs and hit her head on the railing and now she's all bandaged up, in the hospital, unable to even remember her own name, let alone remember to call me.

Gee. Now I'm all nostalgic. The snow is covering the world in a soundproofing blanket of white cotton batting and here inside the cocoon, nobody can hear you moan.

See you tomorrow -- I hope.