I watched A Single Man by myself* (une âme solitaire) in a movie theater in Singapore. I remember I wrote down one line in my notebook while it was playing. I just found that line on the second page of the novel and felt like sharing it with you:
"What he sees in the mirror isn’t so much a face as the expression of a predicament."
I am listening to Passion Pit (Mirrored Sea) and drinking 360 Mandarin Orange Flavored Vodka. I worked four hours today and finished Nabokov’s Mary. That was a book that fizzled, waned, drifted—but his first! A writer can do that in his or her first. I am worried about careers and friends and women and family. I am thirty-three. I emailed a twenty-year old tonight, I clicked like on some facebook photos, I had eggs for breakfast and a sandwich for lunch. My phone just vibrated—a text from Caitlin. I must attend.
*I might have gone with a woman named Lina, but I can’t remember.