Ten.Five Hundred & Seventy-Five
I make a mental inventory of what’s here and think about how it can be used in the upcoming week. This week’s list is shorter than usual but that’s a g good thing. I’m trying to get better about having an empty fridge and pantry before going to the store; use up as much as possible before stuffing it all full again.
They don’t open until 8.
There’s a poetry version of this? How did I not know?! Deborah Landau reads an Anne Sexton poem. Oh yes, I want to be a poetess.
I should have stopped myself and written down all of those ideas when they came to me. Now, everything seems to have lost its power.
I’m tired. A cold has been trying to push itself out for the past few weeks. it’s just lingering there in the background. Just enough to sap away the energy, just enough to make me a little more irritable than usual.
I recognize that I’m a difficult person to live with.
Hitchcock and nap.
Tomorrow, tomorrow. What about tomorrow?
Still craving samosas.