February 4, 2020

Caught between Will’s re-financing and my own, resulting in a flurry of irritating phone calls. Mine will be easy, finally, but his snags on a variety of corners he cut. Though the paperwork showed he should pay me something like 1209 a month, he rounded down to 1200. I didn’t care, but the people hammering put his re-financing apparently do. It is a lesson I hope they let him learn and move on. For one thing, I have gotten used to the idea of receiving a big fat check when he buys me out. Good creative writing class this AM. We all wrote on an image one of us brought of a dirty diaper with a cigarette snuffed in it, in front of an optician’s on Patton Avenue. They did better on that than the material they’d actually prepared for class.