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2019-01-05 - 7:57 p.m.
be.
my son refers to himself by the invented pronoun "be," which emerged as a portmanteau of "baby" and "me." at my mother-in-law's house, he played with a coin-sorting bank. he called it "beautiful toy." oh, my beautiful boy.
* * *
reading: the letter for the king, by tonke dragt. if only this book had been translated when my brother was still a little boy, playing on the floor with his toy knights on horseback. my brother has very few memories from his early childhood; perhaps for this reason, he is not at all sentimental about it. well, my memories are mine to do with as i like.
listening to: nothing particularly. i don't want to contaminate anything with this mood that lingers and spreads and regenerates itself like black mold.
working on: sorting out the books i do not believe i will ever read again.
in the garden: "a bad winter" used to mean snow and ice and treacherous roads and brutal cold. now it means one that is too warm to abate so many sorts of pests and diseases.
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