There's a guy who's been awake since the Second World War
I slept another eight hours last night. I don't feel any better rested, but I have to assume it's good for me. I got up at half past nine for a singing lesson and almost didn't feel someone was unraveling my brain through my eyes. I walked most of the way home from Belmont; spent the afternoon on my boring job. Tonight I proofread half a Greek dialogue and made five honeycakes. I could go for some kind of diaspora trifecta if I translated something in Ladino.

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Good to know about the Castilian. We don't steal a language so much as inoculate it and wait for it to culture?
Yesterday we turned in an application for preschool. It slipped my mind until the whole learning/mommybrain conundrum thing. Gah at it -- gah.
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My first poem was published ten years ago yesterday. My first short story was published a month before that. I realized this only after I had put up this morning's post: time, time, time!
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