Interruptions

I’ve been away because I’ve been reading, and because I don’t know what to say.

There are things I’ve been thinking about.

It’s autumn again. A tree across form us has already turned bright red. The Twins need to win tonight and tomorrow’s games to take the division, or the White Sox need to keep losing. School’s four-weeks deep; I’ll be starting thesis this winter. I still think that The Band’s Visit is the best movie of the year, though that could change still in the next few months. I’ve been barrowing Dave’s old car, so we now have two. I’d prefer to have zero. I wish we lived somewhere more concentrated. Andre Dubus was onto something; am I going to always be a short story writer? Where will Jamie’s practice be? Six years - we’ve been married for six years. We told people we’d wait for four or five years before having kids, thinking that that was maybe a bit long. Now six, and still no kids. There are all these endings – endings for friends and of jobs, of this stretch of life. If the Twins win the division, they’ll lose in the first round, I’m sure, but at least the ChiSox won’t be around. I’m trying to write something about dads again, drawing on the work of Virginia Woolf. What is it about our fathers?

I wrote an opening to a story over the summer. Where do I take it?

The scene is difficult to imagine. Everyone was angry, there was a great mess.

I have to pick up Sam now for the game. Adam will meet us there.