Nothing wrong yesterday, if you even noticed that I missed it. I was just tired. The very thought of thinking (you know what I mean) paralyzed me, so I didn’t do any writing. I read but not much. I’m reading Florida, a collection of short stories by Lauren Groff, whose writing I love (and who is up for a National Book Award) but these stories were making me jumpy, frightened, nervous and suspicious. Abandoned children struggling to survive (some don’t), cheating men and women, snakes, bugs, hurricane-like storms are all described vividly and memorably; I wolud finish one story and then leave the book for a while to give me time to recover. Actually, I left off one yesterday without finishing it and quit for the day - have to go back and see what happened to the not-very smart or nice “heroine”.

I’m not very brave. Smart as I think I am, I struggle along - banal, middle-of-the road, merely articulate, seldom original. I digress.

I am going to try to catch my inner dialogue, the constant flicker of thoughts and images that waft through my mind or brain - whatever. (I read that scientists are trying to separate and identify mind, brain and soul.) Anon, anon. It’s 5:29 a.m. Maybe I can sleep a little longer, before the day begins and nap-times start.