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November 20, 2012
MISCELLANY

— Forty-four years later, I suddenly dig candles and incense.

— I’d like to be a houseplant person. The place needs plants. Plants and curtains and shelves, and borrowed poetry.

— Bennett is a docile cat until I coo, Nice kitty, and then he roars — Mrraaauuuu! — and leaps, dragging us down to the couch or floor, his claws popped, tearing at me hard and fast. Mrraaauuuu! His rage frightens me a little, but I hold him.

— “Something in the way she knows / And all I have to do is think of her...”

— I check my mail often, fearing I’ve said too much.