Ten.Five Hundred & Seventy-Nine
3:32 am. Great. I doubt I’ll be able to get anything out of the next two hours.
I think to what he said: “You don’t have time for anything else.” It is true. And yet it is not. There is always time for the right thing.
I wonder whether or not I should put down the spray bottle and write instead. But the truth is that this kind of work, this regularly scheduled cleaning, is helpful to me. I get to sort out all of my feelings.
“When I’m on The New Yorker podcast, I’m going to read ‘To Reach Japan’ by Alice Munro. Deborah and I will talk about what it says about motherhood and womanhood and yes, it will be so good.”
I catch what I just said to myself: “When I’m on The New Yorker podcast…” What a lofty goal. But also, not entirely impossible.
We told him just last night how important it is to visualize himself being really great, hitting balls, catching balls. You gotta visualize yourself succeeding. Right.
I put Tropic of Cancer in the bag designated for library returns. I gave it 6 chapters. It just didn’t do anything for me.
He missed all three pitches. How can you be perfect at something you’ve never done before?