It has taken me all damn day to get the room of my own, the one in which I write, returned to a modicum of order so I can begin to focus on writing again. Piles of books, piles of random newspaper clippings, and newsletters and mail and receipts
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Essay: “Comfort”
Combing through my archives of writing today and found this in the Anthracite Diaries section of my old blog, Stream of Consciousness. It’s a brief essay about being in my hometown on September 11, 2001 …
Paying Someone Else to Clean Your House
Today, Robin—the angel of feather dusters, the goddess of order and a mopped tile floor—came to clean. I look forward to her visits. Well, I look forward to after her visits when I sit in the living room and look around me at the what she hath wrought…
