So many options

I'm not accustomed to having a clean slate like this to work with...

My working life is divided up into carefully regimented portions that require me to do things methodically and with very little latitude or creativity. But here I am free to do as I choose and, I must admit, it is as daunting as it is exhillarating. I could write about Billie Holiday or my new Spanish tutor or the Alaskan Way Viaduct debacle here in Seattle. I could recommend that you watch Charlie Rose tonight (or any night) or listen to Christopher Lydon on Radio Open Source. I could reminisce on Arcade Fire's magical performance at the 2005 Austin Music Festival, in the 100+ degree weather, when I had yet come to fully appreciating the band. Or maybe the first concert I ever saw: 311 and Cypress Hill at the Bronco Bowl in Dallas, in 1996. I could write out a Christmas wishlist or write a review of the Diet Dr. Pepper I just drank (it was extravagant). I could brag about what I've read lately (John Updike's Rabbit books, all four of them, in a row) or muse over sub-par quality of the graffiti in Seattle.

But instead, I'm going to retire to the couch and listen to the wind. I'm taking the newest issue of The New Yorker with me and my half-read copy of Orhan Pamuk's Snow but those will just be part of the background. I like storms like this for the same reason I like the ocean: they both make me feel like the earth is alive. I find peace in that.