Last night's windstorm brought a case of the jitters with it--windows rattling, is-that-a-burglar paranoia, wondering how sturdily rooted is the giant pine tree in the front yard of the house where I'm staying. The house is full of little hallways, with windows and mirrors that trap unexpected reflections, and surrounded by high trees and plants that slap at the walls. Lying in bed last night, I was troubled by the noise, and afraid to look outside or go out of the bedroom, for fear I'd discover something unpleasant lurking in the dark. It seems a primal fear--the notion that an object viewed as inanimate will suddenly reveal itself to be looking back at the viewer. Or maybe it's just me.

The two tiny dogs I'm watching were undisturbed, which eventually lulled me out of my jumpiness. These dogs bark if they hear the click of a toenail of someone walking in Taiwan, so their somnolence was reassuring.

The wind swept away the lingering grey that's been hanging over our coastline of late, and this morning, the light through the blinds was clear and bright, and I stumbled around, banging into unfamiliar corners and tripping over dog toys, trying to remember where I left my keys. The wind had cleared the skies, but not my brain. I have high expectations for the wind, apparently, very few of which are ever met.

To help with the brain-clearing, I walked uptown to the new Sephora--a riot of cosmetics and perfume--where I was outnumbered by salesladies at a ratio of about 8:1. They stalked me in the aisles, eyeing my handbag as well as the empty basket they'd given me to collect my purchases. One nice thing about the store is that they'll make you a sample of any perfume you want, so I walked out with several, and an eyeliner, and a ridiculous color of eyeshadow, RIDICULOUS, I cannot even name the color. Let me look at it again. OK, it is called Noir Pr�cieux, and what the hell, "precious black"? That sounds like a Hogwarts employee, and anyway, the eyeshadow is decidedly violet, a deep and disturbing dark purple like an iris that's called black by those lying seed catalog copywriters, but which is any fool can see is really purple.

I cannot wait to wear this eyeshadow of insanity in conjunction with several dozen of the crazier of my new perfume samples. I will sit in the dark, and you will sense my presence by my cloud of perfume, but it will take several moments for you to realize I am staring back at you through eyes centered in deep pools of creepy Precious Black eyeshadow.

Until then, I'll be here, at my desk, with this great new filing project my boss assigned me. Bonus: when I announced to a coworker that the project would take me the rest of the week, she replied cheerily, "Good!"

And, in the Coals to Newcastle Department, a nice young man made beer, from scratch, I assume, and delivered a bottle of it to the brewery where my band rehearses. I was not present to receive this beer, but I want to stress that I like this trend, and very much encourage it. You can call ahead to make sure I'll be present, or just drop off the gifts. Either way, I remain

Your faithful

Violet

Star of the day. . .Tom Verlaine