I returned the Michael Palin Diaries: The Python Years 1969-1979. I ordered the second installment Halfway to Hollywood 1980-1988 which should be available in a day or two. I am also reading Stephen Sondheim- Finishing the Hat. It’s my second go-round with this book and I find it an easier read than it was a few years ago.

I am also reading A Ned Rorem Reader which is a collection of interviews and stories from Ned Rorem. He was someone that I heard ‘of’, rather than heard. There is a wonderful, funny interview that Rorem has with Stephen Sondheim and it’s worth checking out on YouTube.

I just started reading A Ned Rorem Reader this afternoon and within minutes I was struck by something Ned Rorem said about writing a diary when he was living in Paris.

In Chez Marie-Laure de Noailles, M. de Noailles handed him ‘a pretty little carnet with several hundred empty pages, saying “Here, write. Even if you feel bad before and after while you’re writing your cares are transferred”.’

That actually makes sense. The cares ARE transferred and I more or less feel the same as I did before I started writing. This is a diary. It is a blog. It is whatever you want to call it. I am relatively ambivalent about what to call it, usually calling it this here blog.

Today was a gloomy Sunday. The sun was out and there was a chill in the air. On the top floor of the building where Bill and I live, it’s generally cooler than it is when we hit the street. Thermometer readings are of no use. I explained to Bill how I was feeling depressed when we took a walk, like a failure, ashamed of my employment situation.

Mainly wary of how people I care about might perceive this latest setback Some family members know, but others are intentionally left in the dark. And knowing they do not read this here blog that secret seems to be safe.

There will be no Thanksgiving dinner on Thursday, plans have changed, and no invitations are proffered. And that’s OK. I am content to do nothing since I have been doing nothing for a few weeks now and it’s really just another day.

I just have to make it to Friday, which is far away when you are not doing anything. I do look for work, I do send out resumes. No one’s biting. Perhaps it’s the end of the year and no one wants to know. I am tainted by ageism.

I was born in 1962, I am 62 and I am 6’2”.

I feel like I am 40 sometimes. That does not do anyone any good, these delusions. They certainly do not do me any good. I send out resumes and occasionally think I am so perfect for this spot or that gig, and then again there are dozens if not, hundreds that send out their resumes, some of them thinking the same thing.

And in the back of my mind, I think the last job will call back, telling me what an awful mistake they made in letting me go. Begging me to return with more money offered.

Now that is a delusion, yes a fleeting one but it does make an appearance and leaves a mark.