Tonight was cake delivery to Ben and the Francises, and now I'm not sleeping and it's some kind of soft disco keeping me company in the dark. The cakes, slightly overdone (as usually happens with me and cooked things), were nevertheless appreciated and delicious final resting places for my Saturday apple harvest, and they go a long way toward holding off the autumn fade. Also: laughing with children, looking at art, accepting small plans and savoring trepidation, though that's a slippery one. The NY thank-you notes would have helped as well, but maybe it's too late for that? I guess it's never too late for thank-yous.

    Anyway, the autumn fade is the event wherein one's sharp-eyed brown freckled animal of summer, flickering and blinking for several weeks, begins covering himself in clothes, adjusts his eyes to the new light and his nose to the new smells, tidies up his burrow in his final days of corporeality and then vanishes into total abstractfulness for the winter. Some people are not susceptible to this. Some people use it for great things. I'm somewhere in the middle.

    Okay, so this soft disco is Feist, it turns out. I think Matthew likes her.

    Neat: I was just sleeping.
    To bed.


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