Just tired

The countdown is on, although there isn't much left to do. I just feel kind of tired, and I don't think it is because of those two maitais I had just before bed. They were just like desert. Elizabeth and I spent a lovely evening eating a yummy dinner she cooked and then reading a new short story she wrote to each other. It left me with such a vivid image of a stringy-haired guitar guy like the ones who would have hung around our moms when were were kids in Berkeley.

I had lunch with Kevin Ottem today, one of NN's very talented publications staff. Turns out he writes for the theater, among other things. I thought he was an actor. Like the 6 degrees of separation from Kevin Bacon, he is reading biographies, each one having some relationship to the last. We discussed my disappointment with the beginning of Bill Clinton's autobiography (which I did not read) beginning with the moment of his birth rather than some character forming or building moment that might have been more meaningful and less literal. Writing, like everything else, is a series of decisions. I am sure he had a reason.

Expectedly and unexpectedly spending time with all these creative language people leads me to beleive I am being given a message.... It isn't a bad time for that message either.