When I left Morning Radio, I swore I would never wake up before the sunrise again.

I’d earned it. 3:15 AM for eight years, seriously?

Yet here I am, coffee in hand, watching the sun rise through the trees outside my kitchen window.

Ten years ago, I auditioned to play a role I’d performed twice before: Nancy in Oliver. I didn’t get cast (it had been a long shot, age-wise, but hey). The role went to my friend Amy - who was, to be fair, much more suited to it. Not only was Amy 30 years younger than I am, but she actually looked the part of the underfed, abused waif that Dickens’ Nancy probably was.

Why did Amy look so thin?

I'm not a huge interpreter of dreams, but last night's was a doozy. My home was about to fall into a sinkhole. ( What ?!?! )

So I had to climb onto the roof, leaving behind all I had worked so hard to create. Carefully chosen wallpaper, brownies baking in the oven - all abandoned; I climbed up, nearer to the sky (with a friend, identity unknown) as the house drifted into the water (I guess I had scored a waterfront property in this dream, wahoo) - destination entirely unknown. No map. Just safety from disaster, and no choice but to trust that we would land somewhere. Somehow. And eventually we did land - on an island where my family was among others waiting to share this new experience.

Word of the month for March:

Art.

Why?

Because I'm not an artist - at least, not a visual one.

Why do it, then?