I keep thinking "a few more days, a few more days..." is all I need to put my house in order; but—especially with the holidays approaching—it may prove to be something more like a fortnight.
A nasty cold has laid me low. Books of all sorts have piled in from the library--the various theatrical collections: Romulus by Vidal and Dürrenmatt, an edition of Euripides; also both books of Richard Wilbur's essays. These last two I have glanced through—they seem more scattershot than I would like. But my attentions have been drawn elsewhere.
I keep thinking "a few more days, a few more days..." is all I need to put my house in order; but—especially with the holidays approaching—it may prove to be something more like a fortnight.
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