She knew now. She had always known, maybe. What she was going to do. What she had done. Or what she was presently doing. There was no time. And time was all there was. This moment within it. In this place she was at. Had come to. Wherever it was. Where the hardest decisions are made, because they are also, ultimately, the easiest.
That's from "Fitty," which has been gone through again and now formally inserted into There Is No Doubt: Storied Humanness. There is not so much as a single word to change. It's perfect. I made a decision, too, and put "Fetch and Ferry" in the book. So this is where we are at as of this morning:
The Girl Who Couldn't Cry
Head to Give
A Start and a Place
Certain Human Lips
Fetch and Ferry
The Echo Blow
Girls of the Nimbus
There's still thinking to be done.
I also finished "Bobby Orr."
Listened to Nick Drake's home recordings and studio outtakes, the Smiths' Strangeways, Here We Come, the Charlatans' Some Friendly. Watched two adaptations of the works of M.R. James. One was from the television version of Lights Out, called "The Lost Will of Dr. Rant," from May 1951, which is based on "The Tractate Middoth" and transposes the story to New England. All that survives is a kinescope, but it's perfectly watchable, and the very faithful adaptation is most solid. The other was a 1976 BBC version of "Mr Humphreys and His Inheritance" for the program Music Scene, which was intended as a tool for teachers to instruct students about how music can be used in dramatic programs.
I wrote a story as well, which I will have to work on. Described thusly in a text: "A mouse is in a wall. It has a fragment of a blue jay quill, which it dips in a cup of moldy water, and begins to write a letter on a price sticker from a dollar store to a cat across the room, which will be put to sleep in the morning. It's called 'All of That Which I Cannot Do.'"
Wrote various entries on here. Obviously. Began that introduction for Longer.
And I ran 5000 stairs.
And thus concludes the morning.