A very dear friend made this clay figure for me. Yes, a drowsy fabulist!

And, do look closely, the lovely, well-rounded breasts are really quite true to life, as is the faceless quality. A photograph could not do me better justice. A photograph would surely show lines on my face and breasts that are, how shall we say, most realistic in size and shape.

Am I actually writing about BREASTS on this website? The hell?

I just wanted to share the figurine with you all as who else even knows about the drowsy fabulist? Of course, the sad truth is that there has been the great NIX on anything remotely resembling fabulous or drowsy this winter.

Sunday, after T had to plow his car into the side of a snow bank in order to avoid slamming into a tree that had fallen across the road and we had extracted the car and returned home, I took the dogs for a walk that ended with Ollie stranded in a stream, up to his shoulders in a freezing water, with me flat on my belly 6 feet above him desperately trying to grab a hold of his collar without falling in myself. If you've ever seen the film Ladyhawke, think of the scene where the wolf goes into the lake and Matthew Broderick is trying to save him. Like that, only replace wolf with dog, lake with creek and, I don't know if Matthew was screaming and crying like a lunatic, so you might want to add that part in, too.

Good news, I did get a fistful of collar and neck nape and was able to drag him up and out. Still, the question might be, why on earth would he drop down a six-foot embankment of ice to get trapped in the stream? Oh, that would because he saw a fox on the other side and made the brilliant decision to pursue.

"Good walk?" T called out from the den when he heard us return. I simply went and stood in front of him, my drenched ski pants frescoed with ice crystals that could get Jack Frost a show in Bryant Park. My face, I expect, conveyed the salient details of the walk with no further explanation necessary.

None of this explains why the drowsy fabulist is no longer supine, dreaming up new worlds. Bitch has dreamed up one too many worlds for her own damn good and these new worlds require much attention and maintenance.

Registrations are pouring in for SAW which, of course, fabulous. However, it is teaching me something about myself: I am an incorrigible caretaker. This is not a good thing. I cannot assume responsibility for each and every person's happiness and experience of SAW and yet, that is precisely what I find myself doing. I've gotta shake it off and get back into facilitator mode and simply make sure all the I's are dotted and T's crossed.

NOTE: Latest Artist of the Week is posted.

But, needless to say, it is quite the consuming endeavor so I may be scarce around these parts for the next ten days or so. All of which is to say, the only one getting naps on the window seat is going to be my tiny, clay doppelganger.

Now, please excuse me as I put on crampons and hike down to where my car has been lodged between two snow banks since last night (butt in one, nose in the other). T has informed me there is no getting it free until the Spring Thaws as he can't get the truck up to it or the tractor down to it.

Well, that's just making me insane, so I'm going to go down there with a shovel and see what I can do. If I do succeed in breaking it free and don't kill myself in the process-- I think my next move is to point it due South and drive like hell.

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