I am trying very hard this afternoon to fight off severe downism, but it isn’t easy. I still don’t have a place to live. The immediate future looks uninteresting and unnecessarily bleak, a stream of landmark-free days and lonely nights stretching well into the next several months. I still have to spend a good deal of time in coming weeks tying up loose ends for a book that I’m really running out of patience with — it’s now been in the works for over a year and I’m tired of looking at it. It’s been altogether too long since I was in school, too long since I was on the road, too long since I saw my sisters, too long since I read a novel…
Maybe that’s what I’ll do tonight… read a novel… Proust, I think, if I actually manage to read a few words.
I really can’t wait for my Alandia to arrive.