July 5, 2008

Possibly I woke so crabby the last few days only because it’s hot. It’s still very dark. Once a bird started singing, but assumed he’d got the time wrong and went quiet again. Last night when fireworks lit the air, birds sang in the trees as though it were some tumultuous dawn.

Cook-out at Bill and Amy’s, extremely pleasant company, bountiful food, good talk, constant ratatat of little fireworks in the neighborhood, and great booms of them from places in the distance. I know people have parties because they are at their social best at them, but I am not. Usually–not always–I have to fight through layers of reluctance or protectiveness to get myself in the party mood. When am I at my best? I refuse to say what came to mind–-right here alone, typing away in bliss--for it is too depressing. MP says that, though he is an excellent and enthusiastic interpreter of music, he has no interest in ever writing any. I wonder how interested I would have been in literature had I not been a writer? Impossible to say; it came as a package. What would I have been interested in? Nature? Science? I can’t even imagine, I am so used to what I am.

Longing for an iced coffee in a café which will not open for an hour–

Went to the Toyota dealership to see if I could buy a Prius. There was no Prius on the lot, but if I paid $500 to get on a waiting list, I might have a chance to buy one in the next five months. I paid the money. Who knows why?