(no subject)

I write here but invariably erase it. I have nothing but complaints, and am in a state where frankly I couldn't handle mental operations more complex than complaining, but none of it is important, and it's all far outweighed by the one great positive. Which I don't even type about. It would be even sillier, and more cruel, than going on about all the money one's making or the sex one's having.

So I'm around, want to talk, can't talk, am too tired to talk. Just thought I'd say that.

(no subject)

Thogh when I'm awake enough to attend to it I'm enjoying Mrs. Dalloway immensely. Curious how different it is from Sound and the Fury while stemming, though in Woolf's case a bit more combatively, from the same three precursor texts.

Peter Walsh's dream I'm amazed I ever forgot. And yet I see its influence in some things I tried to write. Even in some dreams I've had.