March 3, 2020

SC follows me after class wanting to catch up on my life. Something about “all that” makes me feel uncomfortable, so I am not forthcoming. Nevertheless, he confides that he is marrying an artist out in Burnsville, who does paintings of elfin women surrounded by flowers or wavelets. He offers to fix my studio roof. He says that any time I need him I should call upon him. He is trying to exhibit kindness, and our languages are just enough off to make the whole event odd. I think everyone is more worried about my bruised face than they should be– imagining it a symptom rather than an incident. Great recent progress on Sam-Sam, foreseeing the end.

Took some stuff to the riverside office, and found a dead weaver finch balled up in a corner, Have no idea how he got in, but the idea of him beating around in the dark, alone until he died, was grievous.

Hungarian Renaissance music on the CD.