OK

My records show that I finally sent the mail I was holding. There's still something lodged in my memory that I can't seem to erase, but that's alright, there are a great many things lodged in there and one more won't matter. I need to rearrange my schedule so that I write in the early morning. Skip does this. Slyly working when his computer won't complain. My black Dell loves this time of the morning, just before the birds start singing. It's very quiet and you can hear yourself think. Fucking disaster with the air handling unit at the museum today. I need to get this out in the open, I love the museum, it is maybe the physical plant that attracts me mostly. I love the building, an old bank, with a vault where we store art. What's not to love? The floor drain for the condenser was clogged and water was draining everywhere. What we need is Tom Terrific, greatest hero ever, and I'm actually in town, because I have to do my laundry. Put on my tin hat and solve the problem. I can't believe me, what one hand doeth the other knows nothing about. I see the solution before the plumber, a professional, sees it. What we have here is a drainage problem, we need to move to water out and away. Doesn't take a brain surgeon. Drill a hole in the wall and drain the drip directly. I'm not kidding. If we ran the condensation out onto the roof it would be just like rain, and drain through the scuppers. Not to make light, but I could do this in my sleep. Once you see the solution. Got back to sleep for a while, then the sun woke me, birdsong. Awful headache from banging my head in the equipment room where the air-handler resides. Pipes everywhere, large protruding valves. Need to run to town tomorrow, check for further leakage, pick up 50 pounds of Jim Dandy dog food (a month's supply, $14) and stop at the library to get books they're holding for me. I seldom remember which books I ask them to get and am usually surprised. I don't work at the university any more, but they don't seem to know that. The new Melville book is in, the Peretz, I look forward to that, and a Dorothy Sayers, that if I've read, I only read once, a long time ago. Her translation of Dante was the standard for many years. The only time I read him. Like Milton (also will never read again) on a bad acid trip. That moldy bread. Ergo(t) religion. You get high, you start thinking about a prime mover. Hard not to. I breathe because why? Just saying. Problem is that if you mention something, it becomes real. You've noticed this, right? the way a stranger might notice you. D folds his napkin into an origami duck, I tear the record into small pieces and spell out SOS. Just a difference in personality. Keep that to yourself. I'm comfortable in my role as mediator. Nothing is the same. He mops from Up Stage Right to Down Stager Left in his modified chevron. Not a word is spoken. What you see is what you get. Almost nothing. I better go, surely I'll lose something.