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2001-03-19

I am so extremely vexed tonight at myself and at my work �situation� that I am tempted to sink into a rambling sulk about how I have always been held back by my honesty�and then I look around the room and see so many interesting things to do, so many good books to read; I just fixed myself a most delicious bacon, cheese, and asparagus omelet, with a side of pumpernickel toast, for dinner; my cats are sleeping all around me, my bills are paid, spring is almost here�and I live in New York�I mean, what exactly is the nature of my complaint?

My job distracts me from my joyousness. My moment, at the end of the workday, when I walk away from the desk with a spring in my step and a sense of delightful readiness to come back and write something FOR ME once the cats are fed, and the dishes are done, and the dinner is on�this moment is missing; and even Martha at 6:30 loses her savor as I brood over grievances and dare the phone to ring just one more time.

I must get a hold of myself. I must pluck myself�while my squirmy hatred of change pierces the skies with its rodent shrieking�out of my comfortable hole in an eroding bank of burrows and demand, �What next? And when?�

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