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Oct. 3rd, 2019 09:59 pmYesterday, I tried to eat a little more than my current normal, because I'm so tired of being hungry all the time. The result wasn't horrible, but it wasn't really great either. My stomach felt very lumpy and uncomfortable. But I feel I have to push the envelope in the direction of normal or I'll never get there. We've had two more dreary days of chilly rain and clouds. Today we went to the bookstore, just to get out of the house. I think half the town is having the same idea. The cafe was packed. Next to us there were two ahem, old ladies, by which I mean people who are probably not much older than me. When they got up and left, I happened to glance over and see that one of them had left her cap behind. She was walking slowly with a cane, so I grabbed the hat and ran after her, and caught her part way across the parking lot. She was surprised and pleased to get her cap back. I was texting with the Nonesuch at the time, so I texted him to tell him the reason for the sudden interruption. I also commented that I was a bit worried that she was driving herself home, because she was wearing those elaborate protective sunglasses, even indoors and on a cloudy day. He pointed out that she probably had them on to conceal her alien eyes so she could walk among us incognito. And then I realized I'm probably infected with the alien mind control virus, now that I've come in contact with her stuff. No good deed goes unpunished! Being a writer makes casual encounters so much more interesting.
Some time ago, a former workshop teacher and writer published his memoirs, and kindly had a copy sent to me. I had thanked him, but I felt in a rather perfunctory way, and without that evidence of having actually READ the thing which is so dear to a writer's heart. It was on my mind to write him a note indicating an appreciative reading. While I was in various offices and waiting rooms, I wrote this thing in my head, in a rather meandering and discursive style. But, post-endoscopy, all my thoughts evaporated and I was faced with starting from scratch. It turned into a massive gumption trap. I almost didn't do it, but I knew that if I didn't, it would prey on my mind. Especially if he died, which is quite likely since he's about 96 now. Then I'd be stuck with an unwritten letter and no one to mail it to. Today by some miracle, I composed a nice paragraph, which is all that was really needed. Now I can mail it as soon as I ascertain whether he's still in his house. So that's one down.
I've practiced the violin two days in a row. I bagged up a few assortments of action figures, preparatory to giving them away. And that's all I've got right now.
Some time ago, a former workshop teacher and writer published his memoirs, and kindly had a copy sent to me. I had thanked him, but I felt in a rather perfunctory way, and without that evidence of having actually READ the thing which is so dear to a writer's heart. It was on my mind to write him a note indicating an appreciative reading. While I was in various offices and waiting rooms, I wrote this thing in my head, in a rather meandering and discursive style. But, post-endoscopy, all my thoughts evaporated and I was faced with starting from scratch. It turned into a massive gumption trap. I almost didn't do it, but I knew that if I didn't, it would prey on my mind. Especially if he died, which is quite likely since he's about 96 now. Then I'd be stuck with an unwritten letter and no one to mail it to. Today by some miracle, I composed a nice paragraph, which is all that was really needed. Now I can mail it as soon as I ascertain whether he's still in his house. So that's one down.
I've practiced the violin two days in a row. I bagged up a few assortments of action figures, preparatory to giving them away. And that's all I've got right now.
