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Working girl

An absorbing day of editing, creating, walking around the block, not making a doctor's appointment, buying toilet paper, reading Jude the Obscure, listening to the Staple Singers, talking on the phone for 20 minutes to a friendly woman from the insurance company who told me about her garden, sweeping & mopping my office floor, banging the dust out of the rugs, reminding people that Bonny Finberg & Murat Nemet-Nejat are reading tonight in Prose Pros, gossiping about karate, tidying my desk, throwing out a clumsy stained glass fish made by I no longer remember who, lighting incense, waving away a few last (I hope) drain flies, worrying—yes, this early in the season—about the Yankees, loving the sunny day, loving my man, loving indiscriminately, loving my cat, loving Henry Thomas playing the flute-like quills (cane pipes), loving that the new Donna Leon will be waiting for me at the library tomorrow, thinking about the closing of the frontier, gang signs & John Olerud, talking to Maggie & Liza & Johnny, brushing my hair, checking out hotels for our trip to San Francisco next month, emailing lots, sighing.
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