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Sunday, August 9 Still all hot-eyed and crybaby-headed, I feel pretty raw and don't entirely know why. Maybe I'm dehydrated. I just put on Nick Drake and don't expect that to help any but it sets a certain tone, which matches the mood of the evening - dark clouds coming in, light rains falling - but starts off the week oddly as there's a fire weather warning for tomorrow and temperatures getting back up into the high 90s. That's not Nick Drake weather. Will listen to the Cure after this but that doesn't match the forecast either. Years ago, when my thesis advisor retired, he tried to throw out all his files with copies of articles and offprints and early drafts of manuscripts and stuff like that. I couldn't stand to see it happen so I salvaged enough to fit into four and a half boxes. Four and a half heavy printer-paper boxes packed full, been lugging them around with me the few times I've moved since then, and they've been sitting in my garage with the spiders and the dust, and today I finally went through them and got rid of most of it. Most of it isn't valuable at all but I did keep a handful of files that I couldn't get myself to get rid of, one an article about him. I didn't go running, I didn't do any laundry, I didn't mow the lawn, I didn't redo my fingernail polish, I did eat strawberries, I did lie in the grass and look at the sky, and I had ice cream and potato chips for lunch.
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