November 21, 2019

Dreamed last night of painting. KK was in the dream. Rose in darkness and went to the Racquet Club, the second time this week I’ve worked out. Millie M was there, preparing for a class. Weakness and anemia have prevented this for a year and more, though I wonder if I could have started back sooner had I pushed myself. Sat in the café with terrible coffee and watched the swimmers and wrote, as I have loved to do.

Have been accepted to the Virginia Festival of the Book. Monica at Red Hen says it’s a great honor. So, Charlottesville in March.

TIAA-CREF calls. My retirement situation will be way less desperate than I feared, slightly less cushy than I hoped.

Drove to Black Mountain and, against expectation, the books were ready. The first thing I noticed was that the book is pretty. The second is that THERE IS AN ERROR IN PUNCTUATION ON THE COVER. Decided to say nothing. What can be done now? Carlos never thought to give the cover over for proofreading; I never thought to request it. I was so exhausted from yesterday’s disappointments that I wasn’t very celebratory. I think this disappointed Carlos. It could not, at the moment, be helped. Pick a copy up every now and then, open a page to find an error or a bad sentence. None yet.