But I'm not feeling gloomy. No, I'm not. I have my full-spectrum light shining on me and I feel great. Right after I post this I intend to do some actual writing. Yes, that's right, real writing, first draft-y, messy, pounding ideas into paper writing. I love it.
October 3--Francois Boucher, Rinaldo and Armida. Amy had planned this evening down to the last moment and it was going exactly according to plan. Ray showed up right on time; he was even dressed the way she had hoped, looking so buff in his uniform. Ray was a soldier so he could look stern and tough when he was on duty but Amy loved the way he looked like a kid playing dress up when she stood close to him. She was sitting in her garden by the fountain fixing her hair in an old gilt-framed mirror she had dug out of the attic and propped there just for this occasion. She could see him in the corner of the glass, his eyes riveted on her bare shoulder. Now she reached to set down her comb making sure that her strap slid down her arm and her breast was revealed. She heard him gasp and felt the warmth of his breath on her neck. She waited a beat and turned quickly as if startled, being careful not to grab her gown as her hands rose to her throat. She savored the glitter of his gaze as he drank in her pale perfection.
That little minx! She's trouble, that Amy. I don't envy her parents.
--Barbara
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