August 12, 2020

Tony comes to mow. He shows me his new glasses. I feel bad for the woodchuck, Tony having mown down all his grass, and I toss some carrots down by the shed.  I waste most of the day, though in the morning I do send out manuscripts. My days divide so I forget at evening what I accomplished in the morning.  Torrents of rain before night. What do people do not to be sick of quarantine? I’m sick of it every tenth day. McAfee’s book Ropes of the Sun fully engaging