February 1, 2020

Worked early in the morning, theater beginning to flow again.

Renewed the literary blog that I keep neglecting.

Sang for Jones Byrd’s funeral. Huge event, the church and two overflow rooms full. Southern lawyers invited to speak, the longest-winded people in the world.

Will takes me to see the house he wants to buy in Spooks Branch. I’m bemused (it’s smaller than the house he has now) but one wants what one wants.

Mired in a situation I have not known in forty years: bitter reluctance to address any of my schoolwork.

Maud makes caves in the comforter, sleeps like a bear out of sight.