September 16, 2026

Went to physical therapy yesterday, handsome Nathaniel making me race around doing this and that, giving me a series of daily exercises, which I have already done for the day. I’m not as unbalanced as I thought, but the slowness of my pace shocks even a professional. 

Symphony rehearsal, Carmina Burana, which I remember with pleasure from doing it in 1973 in Baltimore. I had several solos then. Doubt that I will now. While failing in my classwork, I was something of a vocal phenomenon in Baltimore. I suppose basses were in short supply. Last night I noted something perpetually true of me, that I try to avoid conversation-- so how was your week? Writing anything now?–much preferring communion with my own thoughts. Whether this is the cause of my isolation or a result of it cannot now be determined. 

Annie Dillard is dead.