Best things about yesterday:
Phoebe Greenberg’s Next Floor
and a perfectly creamy lobster bisque with chunks of lump crab and my very first cut of chateaubriand at Ray’s The Steaks
Worst things about yesterday:
Your irritable 6 year-old who made my walk through the Holocaust Memorial Museum pretty useless.
“Where is your compassion?”
“Nowhere you can get at it.”
–Amazing, alarming, FAMILIAR. This pathology exists and is a TYPE. Amazing!
“He was what I thought he was. And he’s gone.”
“I like the Walrus best,” said Alice, “because you see he was a little sorry for the poor oysters.”
I loathe my belly, that trunkful of bowels, which I have to carry around, and everything connected with it–the wrong food, heartburn, constipation’s leaden load, or else indigestion with a first installment of hot filth pouring out of me in a public toilet three minutes before a punctual engagement.
Heart (or Loins?)
Was up and down all night, delivering lines into my typewriter for safekeeping. I have a poem brewing, for sure.
Merry Christmas, y’all!
QV, thank you. Merry Christmas everyone.