Sun’s not up yet. It will be worse when I return. Vague sense of dread that always anticipates a trip away from home. I’m perfectly happy here just now. Indeed, I’ll be perfectly happy over there as well. But no matter how one tries you cannot maintain multiple primacies. By this time tomorrow I’ll be on my way.
I want to have a good book for the flight. Work is pressing, as always. But nothing will require me to spend hours of prep for something on the flight. I’d read a wonderful interview Maureen Dowd did with Patti Smith not long ago. The latter mentioned, when asked what she was reading, that Susan Sontag had recommended she read more Germans. Acting on that advice Patti lauded Hermann Broch’s, “The Death of Virgil.” It’s over on the table there. I’ll bring it with me tomorrow.
I tried to order a few other books Saturday morning, including some essays by Susan Sontag. I needed an iron primarily, as my shirts are all wrinkled, but as long as I was on the site, I might as well get some books. I had a book in the cart by each of the two new Nobel Laureates, Peter Handke and Olga Tokarczuk. But Amazon wouldn’t guarantee delivery for any of it for earlier than Monday, and Monday’s when I’m off.
It must be rather cloudy outside. It’s already seven in the morning at there isn’t a hint of light yet. It’s on account of this, that they invited daylight savings time? I’m imagining this house when I’m older. Always considering what that will be like. There are rooms that haven't been built yet. Tomorrow morning then. On that bus to Newark Liberty Airport. But first you need to ride the bus under the Hudson, to change busses for another bus back under the Hudson, into Jersey. I’m glad it's not for today.