November 27, 2019

Stupendous rain on the roof in the morning dark. Whatever I was planning (like, going for coffee) must wait a while. Vivid, satisfying, narrative dreams.

Finding errors in Night Sleep, errors which I might never have caught (though I do now) but which an actual editor, or any editor at all, would have found. I think with nostalgia of the sometimes annoying thoroughness of the Red Hen ladies.

The lights flicker on and off in the storm. Working on Sam-Sam I have to save after every paragraph.

Tom’s mother dies. Pictures on Facebook of the family, he with the shocking young male beauty I remember from our first meeting.

G publicly fights cancer. She who proclaimed me a racist from the steps of the library and– completely irrelevantly–in a review of Childhood in the Milky Way. Who on earth thought her capable of writing a review anyway? Only the CT. I contemplate this; I make a donation to her medical bills fund.