It's been a sad week for me, though I'm ashamed to admit the source of my sorrow. I know writers are supposed to be scholarly and contemplative, writing and reading and discussing things of import all the time. But I (you may be relieved or disgusted to know) am not this sort of writer. I am an interminable sucker for TV. Always have been. Hours a day. Every day of the week. There, it's out there. And the aforementioned heartbreak started with Elliot's departure from "American Idol" on Wednesday and culminated in the end of "Will & Grace" last night. I wept for both endings. Even Sophie's Choice hasn't done that to me yet.
Speaking of which, this weekend I want to finish reading it. It's incredible. I wish I could write something so absolutely complex. If you haven't noticed I'm on a real 1970's lit-kick lately. I actually ordered a used copy of Scott "Endless Love" Spencer's Preservation Hall too which arrived a few days ago. ( I feel less guilty about my TV affliction/addiction, because I am equally addicted to buying books -- the used books feature on amazon is my heroin.) P's also got another 10K on Sunday. This time we won't go to the race, but we'll meet him at The Diner afterwards. I'm thinking about their Croque Monsieur. I am also teaching my final workshop until mid-June. I am ready for the break.
Oh, and lastly, next week the book goes out and I'll start my feverish trembling.