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Monday, January 6th

The weekend:

Quiet.

Films.

Bait – jagged, black and white, like Bergman in splinters.

The Teacher's Lounge – taut, German, psychological.

The Substance – the beauty industry, broken open.

Watched Bait twice.

The cat’s back. Catanielli – timid, bold, blending.

Snow in Vingis Park – beautiful, magical.

Beef noodle soup, Tom Yum style – 17 euros, but worth it.

Apple, pear, dragon fruit, banana, yogurt – morning light.

Saturday – hazy.

Running by the river, sunlight bursting off fresh snow.

Read my novel, unread for years. Chaotic, but alive.

Stirred the appetite to write again.

Today:

Published under the wrong category – kicked myself.

Teenage class – a sprawl of frustration, neither them nor me at our best.

A room was free – not the one I wanted, but it was there. Grateful.

Friday:

HR dropped the bomb – three grand for a feet lift, payroll will take it.

Knocked me flat. Told myself to ease up, but I’m still chewing it over.

The cleaner – tension, always tension.

The back end of last week – fumbled deadlines, stop-start at work.

Reading: Martyr! by Akbar. Spare prose, sharp.

A bit of Yellow Dog by Amis, but it’s neither here nor there.

Big theme:

Go easier on myself.

Quiet reflections. No big hoo-ha.

Just getting by.