Applied for a job. Zero impression I will get it, but must do something.
Working on, in a very loose definition of working, helping la soeur with the outline for the old book(s).
Having an extraordinary panoply of emotions regarding the dude. Like. Christ. I don’t know. I really don’t. The whole thing could be a terrible idea. Or not. I may write about it elsewhere for myself. The post I’d write in the morning is never the post I’d write at night.
Tomorrow: get up, be on the 8:04a.m. bus. and deal with the day.