dangerous compassions

I call you / from the comet's cradle

Sunday, November 29, 2015

the Uncollected David Rakoff

Well, it's early Sunday morning.  I've been up since 2:30 am.  I want toast but should probably go back to bed.  I got up to write down some ideas that were rattling around in my head for the zine roundtable.  I did some good work.  But then I did some emailing and wrote a to do list in my journal.  I have too many things to do.  But that's normal for getting home from a trip.  But would you do some of my things for me?

Well, I just read my to do list, and they're all things I have to do myself, pretty much.

Well, it's fun to start paragraphs with "well."  This fake fireplace heater seems to do nothing.  I'm freezing my feet off.

Ming's sorting through all the mail that came while we were gone.  He's giving me lots of envelopes.  'Tis the season for return envelopes re: holiday appeals.  Oh yeah, he's up too.  I think he got too cold when I left bed.

There's a new David Rakoff book out.  I saw it when I went to the bookstore a week and a half ago.  His writing is important to me.  But I need not to accumulate things.


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