8:23) Hope O'Keeffe 06-DEC-97 19:40

Dancing over the hills into the headlands...watching the bay and the city spread below... too distracting? I wander back over the hills and climb the narrow stairs to my own room, oddly shaped, perhaps with slanted ceilings too low for a normal person. Shaped, undoubtedly, by a childhood stereotype of an attic garret to starve in. There is a skylight, and I can see the stars and the moon. I have seen this room for years in my dreams, with a desk full of cubbyholes and layers of paper on the floor. But even old dreams evolve, from ruled pads and pencil, to notebooks and fountain pen and inky fingers, to typewriter, to this keyboard and carpal tunnel twinges. New to the dream, along one wall there is a low table, with a row of paintpots. No brushes. On the white walls I have taped my fingerpaintings, and my images and words are starting to dance together, like the lights of the city over the waters of the bay.