Illness

Being ill almost compels one to focus solely on the current moment: you can't plan ahead when you're in pain. I'm now convinced that I have something called Costochondritis, "an inflammation of the junctions were the upper ribs join with the cartilage that holds them to the breastbone or sternum." The cause is unknown and it usually goes away. That has been true in the past, but this time it seems to be hanging on, making it impossible to sleep on my right side, making sleep fitful and making me tired. So far: not exactly the summer of Rog.

Definitions

Praying is actually begging.
Wisdom is resignation.
I read Sam Lipsyte's Venus Drive and Home Land. They won't last--but they have amusing parts. A writer needs to be both good and lucky: Joyce wrote about growing up in a suffocating land that was about to explode. He was good and lucky. Post-modern American mall culture just doesn't lend itself to noteworthy literature. Maybe when the oil runs out and we're going crazy trying to step on our neighbors, then we'll have a literature that both good and noteworthy.