Quiet saturday, slowly working in a mostly-empty office, catching up after a week of Doing Stuff every evening. No great loss in missing a weekend; we still have no summer, only weather than entices you to the park and then dumps rain on you.
Now settled in yet another new room, the 6th this year. Room-hopping has been fun (if intermittently terrifying), but this time I might manage to stay put for a few months. I’m no longer quite so full of optimism and indecisiveness, and I seem again to be acquiring more possessions (i.e. books). Besides this latest home is a good one. It’s full of stereotypically-chatty Latin Americans, giving me a much-needed shove towards properly learning Spanish. Plus the big sitting room, with a constant stream of visitors, makes it feel like I’m living out some Ibsen drama.
The office has meanwhile sprouted a workshop. This month they’ve mostly been getting excited by making plastic out of cornflour. It’s great fun, in a nostalgia-for-primary-school way — even for me, with my instinctive discomfort at anything playfully creative.
Also exciting atm: Henry Miller. Nabokov. MIA. Edmund White. Cinnamon in coffee.