* Less than two weeks to make all the changes for the Scrooge book. I need to work really hard on a lot of things over those two weeks.
* Woke up aching a lot with this awful mattress. It is hard to stand upright at first with what it does to my back. Have no coffee so made tea. Will take some Advil after I write some letters and run stairs.
* Yesterday a meathead saw me in the hallway downstairs and said, "You're soaking wet, dude." The day before a woman in the building asked me if I was sweating because of COVID. Are people unfamiliar with the concept of the workout? Surely the meathead wasn't. Workouts can go either way with meatheads. They love them and do them at every opportunity, or they don't do many of them at all, preferring stupefied inertia, but are versed in the concept, because they watch a lot of sports. That may have been a compliment from that fellow, actually.
* Two hot women moved in across the hall from me. I think they might think I'm crazy. You hear a lot of typing as you go past my door. It's like the constant sound of the building. I locked myself out a couple days ago and when one of the hot women came by I had to knock on the glass of the front door so she could let me in. I was a sweaty mess then, too. All of Van Gogh's neighbors thought he was crazy. I have said this before, but Van Gogh who was supposed to have this awful life made no money--literally not a cent--and he lived in houses. He had some people he could hang out with. And some people who looked after him. So, really, my version of his suffering would be living in my house in Rockport, having people to see, not selling anything, having comfort.
* It's later now. Learned I had cost myself another op-ed with USA Today back in July. I'm a mess. My streak of running at least 3000 stairs a day is coming to an end today at thirty-four. My bad. I just worked on a short story called "On Becoming a Ghost" for nine straight hours, and I am fried.
* I'll start going harder than ever early tomorrow morning.