I went for a massage three days ago. The masseuse massaged my back and legs, and all was normal (although, she did sit on me at one point, which was a little odd). She told me to turn over and she did the fronts of my legs and my arms. All was still normal. She massaged my hands, rubbed my temples. Normal. “Are you married?” she asked. “No,” I said. “No love. So sad,” she said. Then she played with my nipples and sent me out. Time was up.

Today has been a quiet day at Springdale. I have been reading Oliver Sacks and Mark Twain. Listening to the new Joanna Newsom and Bach recordings by Glenn Gould. A little bit of Mickey Newbury as well. It’s been nice. But how much better with wife! Almost every other page of Oliver Sacks makes me fall in love with human beings and then I want to kiss one.

I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but I hope one day I find out.