September 6, 2014

About me lies the strange phenomenon by which the urban night is brightened by lights in mist to the point where I can navigate through the house without switching on a light. Last night the moon was high and lonely.

Excellent morning at the studio. Began nothing new, but tweaked some old things in ways that please me. The garden I planted there triumphs over weeds and dust.

Found a check in my door for rent at 62. W wrote “rent” on the memo line, so now I know that’s what the arrangement is. He’d agreed to pay insurance, which he did not do, but I suppose that if I’m the landlord rather than the bank, insurance and whatnot are back in my court. I imagine he’s angry with me for demanding what was, by then, 35 days late. He’s one of those who will delay and delay, keeping silent about what might have been solved by a word, and when you finally explode, say “I had it all together. I was on my way to your house. If you had just been patient for five minutes.” But an outward sign that things were progressing in any direction at all was welcome, and a few knots in my chest released.

The office across the hall from Z is for rent, and he said I should take it and do my work there, and we could be best friends and gossip across the hall and borrow sugar from each other. Then with me lying naked under his hands, he gave me a run-down of his sex life. We are almost at the point in intimacy when I can confide in him how difficult (I dare not say “hard”) it is for my body not to respond in an embarrassing way when he’s down there caressing. We’re almost at the point where we could find that funny.

Corelli on Pandora.