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Braindead this morning.

Stayed up waaaaay too late last night on account of wanting to use Facebook to impress an old acquaintance of mine who has morphed into a literary agent.

Decided that the best way to impress him was to write insightful analyses of the never-ending Presidential primaries.

And I did impress him, but simultaneously, I horrified him when I declared that this year, the true contest was not Republicans v Democrats but Outsiders v Insiders, and that I personally know four people who've announced that if Bernie Sanders doesn’t get the Dem nomination, they’re voting for Donald Trump! (True dat, by the way.)

Oh, well. He can’t be a very good literary agent, right? He lives in California!


Also, during a long conversation with L, remembered something that happened to me when I was living in Ithaca. (Our conversation spanned the gamut from psychic phenomena to porn, topics that are equally fun to discuss!)

I was walking down State Street on the same block as the Ithaca Diner one cloudy afternoon when I saw Mark walking toward me.

Mark had been dead for approximately a month.

It was a very strong sighting – Mark’s familiar wry grin, his shuffling way of walking (eventually, the MS put him a wheelchair) – although not quite a vision: When Mark got within two feet of me, I saw that Mark was actually Ben.

But this is how I knew that Ben was very, very sick indeed a full month before he ended up in the ICU in an hepatic encephalitic coma with a very grim diagnosis.

For those who are interested, this is generally the way sightings work.

You don’t actually see people who aren’t there.

Instead, your mind kinda overlays on to people who are there.

Anyway, I thought, Well, maybe that would work for the novel. June sees her father walking toward her, only her father is really Henry.

They duck into a Chinese restaurant where obnoxious Emil Coen tells Henry – in June’s presence – that June is Jewish.

Next day, she learns her father has died.

Kinda solves the tricky transitional jump between past tense exposition and real life action.


I’m also incredibly achy on account of I ran way too fast yesterday. Trochanteric aches – right where the gluteus attaches to the femur. I can fit back into my favorite dress again, and I wore it Saturday night. But I still look like I’m four months pregnant – unsettling given that as of today, I am 64-years-old!!!!

What was it again that Roxy Hart said? Not that the truth really matters. But I'm gonna tell you anyway. The thing is, see, I'm older than I ever intended to be.


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Every Day Above Ground

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