My neck! Is broken, or something. I know that last time I wrote I was avoiding a script, but I’m doing it again. And I made my deadline last time. And I’ll make it again. I’m tired of writing about chicken pox. You know how it is.

It’s my goal to be tucked in by midnight. I did it by 12:30 last night, but then watched an old tape of “Pump Up the Volume” until about 2. So this time I’m going to do better. Probably.

Sarah and I gave away the chairs in our living room tonight. We’re both rustling around, getting ready to clear out. Not that it’s definitely imminent. But better to get started now. I feel melancholy about my domestic bliss breaking up, but I suspect I’ll be able to create new domestic bliss.

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