It's World Book Day today, an officemate mentioned.
And what was I reading?
What We Talk About When We Talk About Love, by Raymond Carver.
--No matter how hard I try to veer away from American literature.
In the same way that I wanted to consolidate all my writings. No one can ever keep a single diary these days.
I also finished the Leanne Shapton book (Important Artifacts...) last month.
By next month, I would have enrolled myself in a master's degree.
My job is wearing me out.
Maybe writing down all my excuses for not writing will be the only way to become a writer?
"What / can you do / with a piece of scrubbed-away air?" - Anne Carson
And then there's this short story from Asimov.