Drove all day. Am now at my mother's, where we have eaten dinner, watched Wheel of Fortune, and done the mad scramble for the wifi password nobody knows. Just a normal one.
I forgot to take a picture of myself this morning, but I'm wearing literally the exact same thing I wore day before yesterday:
Sierra, grape thrifted cardigan, purple Xero Oswegos. Odds are that I'll be wearing this during the day tomorrow, too.
Oh, I'm reading the book pictured above. So far it is very good, though I can't help laughing a little, too. I was Mark Strand's student at the University of Utah, and Evan Boland spent two weeks there in the spring of 1993 as visiting writer. I don't know whether they had ever met before, but the whole time Eavan was there, they were doing this kind of territorial face-off with each other that was funny to watch.
Mark would leave the room. Eavan would turn to whoever was there and say, "Well, he's smart. Ish."
Eavan would leave the room. Mark would turn to whoever was there and say, "She wants to be a great poet. Whatever that means."
Still and all, Mark's essay on Archibald Macleish's "You, Andrew Marvell," is marvelous, and everything I remember about him at his best. He could be really not the way he is in this essay, but then he could really be that way, and when he was that way, it was amazing. As is the essay, which I am still reading.