(Georgia O’Keeffe photographed by Alfred Stieglitz, 1918)
Yesterday I went down the hill to the Co-op and bought tamari almonds and dried apricots and chocolate and crackers and two mason jars, because mason jars are everything. The walk back up the hill was quick and brutal, like everyone said it would be.
This afternoon I was getting into an elevator when Damien Echols was getting out of it. He is tall, and wears sunglasses, and has beautiful tattoos, which he describes as “a buffer between me and the outside world.” He smiled, probably not at me, but it was a lovely smile and a lovely moment, for reasons I don’t totally understand.
I made a reading list for the semester and started worrying about how in the world I’m going to write 15-25 brand new pages of made up stuff by August 5.
Since Thursday, I have eaten approximately one thousand cherry tomatoes.
I went to the basement of the library and found an old book about demonic possession and read some of it before I got nervous that someone would see me with it, so I left it on the table. (Anyone could have been reading that book. But now you know.)