Sandy Irvine's Foot Plus Yom Kippur

[mallorys_camera]

The big news is that they found Sandy Irvine’s foot.

Can George Mallory’s camera be far behind?

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Meanwhile, it’s Yom Kippur, but I can no longer fast because these days, I shake if my blood sugar gets too low.

(I have noticed that the morning after I do cannabis gummies, my hands don’t shake at all, & I’m wondering if that means I should do cannabis gummies as part of my nightly routine. There are worse things than staying perpetually stoned!)

I can’t even atone properly ‘cause I gotta say I can’t think of one thing to atone for! I behaved purty well last year. Oh, you know, the usual petty jealousies and wishing people into the cornfield. But if those thoughts remain firmly locked in my mind, how have I hurt those people? What do I have to atone for?

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Speaking of wishing people into the cornfield, Iggy came up a few days ago, and he has been a complete dick, just really fuckin’ rude whenever I initiate the type of innocuous conversation people have when they share a living space.

I can’t really be rude back because there’s a power gradient here. He’s my landlord. I can’t afford to alienate him. What if he decides to kick me out? So I am absenting myself from the common areas. The Patrizia-torium is really the nicest room in the inside of the house anyway.

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Ichabod would tell me to confront Iggy about this. Initiate a conversation: You know when you do that, I feel this— (Notice how masterfully I eschew the verbal construction: …it makes me feel like this.)

But Iggy is so fuckin’ clueless, has such a staggeringly low emotional intelligence quotient, that he quite literally would not know what I was talking about.

There was screaming last night.

Gus.

I have no idea whether these were screams of joy or screams of pain, but I suspect the latter: Iggy has no clue how to deal with a kid like Gus.

Gus will be looking after the cats when I go up to Ithaca later this month. I like Gus. He’s a sweet kid. And I like his mother, who is resolutely cheerful & involved & making the best of what I assume is a legal ruling that Iggy gets to have the kids part-time.

I don’t even know why Iggy wants the kids part-time.

He clearly does not enjoy them. Or enjoy being away from NYC.

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Meanwhile, I finally finished rewriting all the Remuneration I lost and am barreling down the home stretch with that assignment.

It is a gorgeous day—fall at its crispest & most mellow.

Shortly, I will go out canvassing.