I haven't slept well for several nights, and now my interactions with the world are beginning to assume a sepia tinge--speckled and pale, with the corners curling. I feel able to cry about almost anything. At two o'clock this morning, the opening pages of William Trevor's novel Felicia's Journey (another recent Goodwill find) became too pathetic to bear . . . a mousy heroine, pregnant and homeless, wandering through the industrial parks of the English Midlands in search of her boyfriend, and of course she won't find him, and of course something bad will happen, and of course it will involve that jolly fat man in the old-fashioned green car, who is lying in wait for her at the bus station. . . .

Thankfully daylight returned, and coffee, and the exigencies of bossy house pets.

On yesterday's post, Carlene and Ruth mentioned their interest in undertaking another group reading project. Previously I've hosted blog book-clubs involving Dickens, Shakespeare, Melville, Rilke, and maybe some others I'm too tired to remember. Carlene is suggesting Langston Hughes. Another possibility might be Kenneth Rexroth's translations of Chinese poetry. Anyone else have any thoughts about this, or any interest in participating?