Updates

Spend all last week avoiding working on book--this takes enormous amounts of energy. Crisis precipitated by email a week ago from editor who asks how edits are coming along and why don't I send her what I have on the 24th (today). Edits come to a screeching halt and every time think about book--also have severe pain in stomach, buzzing in ears, urge to stand up, and almost pathological fascination with window across street from office where grown man with batman curtain lives. All is brought to a head on Saturday when spring bursts gloriously forth. Take draft of book to the park--Jenny comes too. Do not put on any sunscreen because tell self that have been so long without sun that want to have sunburn (Wish granted.) Enjoy time in park very much (except, naturally, for unfortunate interlude when am crapped on by Bird). Sunday spend indoors madly changing words, sentences, paragraphs, and even font. Today send draft back to editor and feel have reentered world. Why does one procrastinate?