This morning, I'll be teaching; then home again in the afternoon to edit or whatever. I feel like my letters to you have been dull, and I apologize. There's not much fascination in my life, and routines are dull on the page. Forgive my pedestrian notes. I hope to be exciting someday.

In the meantime: I'm glad I don't live in Iowa. This coffee I'm drinking is delicious. I've starting reading The Fish Can Sing, a short novel by the Icelandic writer Haldor Laxness. I dreamed that Brigitte Bardot was my stepmother, and that she climbed into a full bathtub of water while wearing a pink and white pantsuit.