Dark morning. I am drinking black coffee because all the milk seems to have vanished while I was in Farmington reading Beloit poems.

Back I go again this morning for another session. Every time I do this job I am exhausted. Last night, while the boys were watching some crappy movie, I put my head down onto Tom's lap. He said, "How is it going, reading all those poems?" And I said, "I talk all the time. And I think people respect what I say. But I feel like, at heart, all I am is really dumb." He didn't say anything, which is just about the only response one can make to that remark. He did, however, stroke my head, which the headache appreciated. And he did, later, say something along these lines: that all we can do is point out what we notice and pay attention when other people notice stuff we didn't notice ourselves.

It sounds so sensible when he says it. But I still feel dumb.