August 6, 2020

The cleaning lady climbed to the study today, as she almost never does. It is cleaner, but also plugs were loosened from outlets, and when I sat down at my computer, it was dead, the screen was dead. I did not quite panic, but I considered it. 

Wearing the T-shirt a student at Classic Hill gave me in 1983, in trade for a copy of The Glacier’s Daughters. I meant the book to be a gift, I had such a crush on him. No gesture of love I have ever made has hit exactly, or even nearly, the way I intended it. 

Bear returns. I tell him as he approaches the empty trash bin, “that’s empty,” and he moves on without trying it. He is startled by the cry of a jay.

Drove to Reems Creek for stragglers, bring home pink hibiscus and joe-pye. Will need to water if God doesn’t.

Sit by the French Broad and write the last necessary scene of Knight. Battalions of geese fly low along the river as if it were a road. 

Have a commission to co-write a music video and a one-man musical. Feeling employed again. 

I would like to strike a bargain with God vis a vis my career as a writer: one acceptance for every rejection. Since I feel there should be no rejections, this is meant as generous compromise.