Thanks for your letter of yesterday. Receiving it so quickly and being able to respond by near-immediate post puts me in mind of the old postcards I saw, early in the days of nosing about among those, with the indications that someone in Philly could write to someone in New York City about whether she'd see that person the next day, asking for an answer by the afternoon post. The morning mail and the afternoon mail. If we'd stuck with just mail, maybe by now we'd have eight deliveries a day. And at any of them you could ask the postperson to hang on while you jotted a message back.
I got a telegram once. A mailgram, actually. From the classmates who went to NYC for "Danton's Death" when I was sick back in Chestertown. You are interested to know, Lisa, popping to another tab, that Western Union discontinued all telegram messaging in 2006.
I appreciate you saying nice stuff about how you feel about me, how I seem to you/me to be doing, etc. I'm tired today and feel a little all-over-the-place. Dog park took it out of me. And I wasn't even running.
Sunday evening is upon us. You/me. I think of summers past during which yardwork would weigh so heavily on my mind. And this year the jungle rules. The jungle rules; we operate by jungle rules.
And now we operate by litterbox and recycling rules.
Oh, Lisa. I'm not really talking terribly meaningfully to you, am I.
Hey, I have an idea. Why don't you watch the rest of that movie tonight. You could take Lu for a nice long walk after you put a shirt on and move the laundry, and then get the stew to goin', and then sit there starin' at the last of the adventures in Martinique and the occasion of the meeting of Bogie & that kid who was Lauren B., with that fine sprinkling of Hoagy C. and the touchstone depiction of the "rummy" Walter B.
Write back when you get a chance.