Monday, November 11, 1996
Written at 2:46:11pm
It is now [an error occurred while processing this directive]

Just cancelled my health club membership, just paid my rent, just paid my student loan, just sitting here all day letting electricians mill about the apartment and drill holes to be used as openings through which to floss (maybe that should be "thread") the building with ribbed metal cables which will improve our electricity service. Or so the plumbers would have us believe.

Reading The Liar's Club. Like it; also like Updike again after a few years of wringing that post-bacalleureate Updike-saturation out of my head.

Here I am tonight. Watching the television. 10:10pm. Reading a lot of last week's e-mail. Send me some. I'm going to Las Vegas on Saturday.

Between that last paragraph and this one I restrained the sudden urge to start drawing.

Re: That phrase "Between that last paragraph and this one." While it is being typed, it always seems like it will be an effective, if nearly innocuous mind-bender. But in fact it never is. Re-reading it, that expression always forces a grim retreat out of whatever else I was saying, and it's even a little insulting. Have to stop using it. It might be suitable in letters, where several hours might pass between paragraphs. But man, I'm typin' with the wind here. Hose me down.

At any rate, there are these passing urges at fields of discipline which are not mine, which I never considered persuing and which there will never be time to explore. Bookbinding, for one. I could always take a course in that discipline at the place over on Madison Avenue. Same goes for pottery and fruitcake-making, not to mention greeting-card distribution.

THAT'S IT!