My eyes are mostly grey, just grey, faintest sheen of gunmetal blue, but pretty much grey. Open wide, when the pupils contract, it's like the tide goes out, leaving this lacy, ragged border of faint brown tones, throwing striations out into the rest of the iris.

It's odd to have a weekend day with nothing in it, no engagements, no Anthony to share the house with. He's off for his Nonno's birthday, and I'm staring at my own eyes in the mirror.

It's delicious, such freeness of time.

Later, I might even give myself a French manicure, if I can figure out what those little bits of sticky paper are for, and whether I have enough white to deal with the talons that my third and fourth left-hand fingers have become.