August 1, 2013

Submerged in something, don’t know exactly what. I suppose a renewal of the old War with Heaven, though as the years pass the stakes get lower and the engagement less dire, as the prospect of any reasonable reward for victory thins. What if I should receive everything I labored for through the years this very minute? One cannot really call a change at the end of life a change of life.

Hibiscus in glorious bloom. Have not yet had the chance to hack the area John the Fragrant Tree Man opened up into order.

Have a a running start on my third Lincoln play.

Thinking the swelling and stiffness on the middle finger of my right hand is, also, gout– which has not gone away this time but subsided into something barely noticeable.  Nothing is prevented, but all is made more laborious.

Slid almost imperceptibly from dreams. I lay there on the bed, and when I saw the outline of a cat’s head against the paler window, I though, “I am awake,” and then I was.