Tuesday, February 4, 2020

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 LaxnessI dreamed that Brigitte Bardot was my stepmother, and that she climbed into a full bathtub of water while wearing a pink and white pantsuit. 

2 comments:

Ruth said...

I too hope to be exciting someday and in the meanwhile, I'm enjoying your nearly daily letters. Plus your dreams are always exciting.
Much love

June will come and Frost will happen...Yay

David (n of 49) said...

Seconding Ruth's comments--nothing dreary here. Pack up your worries in whatever passes for a poet's kitbag and lock them away. Brad Leithauser thought Laxness' Independent People was one of the twentieth century's great novels.