It's raining and starting to feel as if the weather is beginning its tumble toward Fall.
Couldn't sleep last night.
Today I've been thinking about the reading next week,tinkering with a transitional moment in Appearances, and taking care of domestic stuff. I cleaned up the kitchen, went to the bank, stopped at a rummage sale, shopped for groceries, sorted laundry.
Had a very good hour on the exercise bike this morning.
Called Mom and wished her a happy birthday.
Listening to Wilco now.
The mail just arrived. Some of the envelopes are soggy. Oh, and there's a fresh copy of the London Review of Books! Unfortunately the CD I was hoping for hasn't arrived yet. Maybe tomorrow.
When I talked to Mom she asked if I missed working. I told her that I missed people that I worked with but not doing public health work. She asked if I felt lonely. I said I did feel somewhat isolated but that I lunch with people I know from time to time and run into folks all the time when I'm out walking about town. Mom said maybe I should get a hobby. And I said, well, I have a vocation: poetry. There was a silence.
Then I said, but I am seriously thinking about picking up a guitar and trying to teach myself to play it. Mom said "Won't that be a solitary activity too?"
I said "Yeah, but I can pretend I'm listening to someone else play."
She said "Yeah, I guess you could."