No Phone

This is getting old. I spend two or three hours writing a paragraph and then I can't send it. Interrupts the process. I've worked for years this way, now, and I am a creature of habit when it comes to writing. Meetings most of the day at the museum, I miss all of them. Tinkered with small pulleys. Got out chairs for the residency students. They had to pick one piece in the main gallery and write a paragraph about it. I approved. This three week residency is a brother sister team; he's an industrial designer, she's an artist person. They're both good. I went around with Janet today and measured dolls, she's having the kids do scale models. Also a good idea. I say kids, they're not really. 28 of them, the best of the art and honors students. A group that size, that mix, there's always a senior girl, 17 or 18, that looks 27 and clearly knows her way around the block. In this group it's Amanda, who flirts shamelessly with me. I go to the basement. Everyone foists off food on me, they don't think I eat enough, so I get left-over lunches from the residency and left-over goodies from the planning committee (yearly big fund-raiser) meeting. I'll have to stop and feed the geese, I already had a pizza from yesterday. First fall of leaves and a bit of color on the ridges. The hollows are still verdant tangles, but on the ridge tops, I can begin to see the ground. Three crows dancing at the spillway, eating the remains of a fisherman's snack. One of them will almost take a cracker from my hand. Way too trusting, though I wouldn't mind knowing a crow. I just do peripheral work, what's available out there. I might have mentioned your name, I'm sure it was coded in such a way that mo one would ever understand it. I do this for a living. Words wear out, I cant use 'gay' anymore or 'faggot", which used to be just a billet I fed to the stove. I can't imagine being censored. Naive, what? Still, I can't imagine.