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Stephen has pet peeves that occasionally become larger than life. For a while it was lawyers. One learned not to say the very word in his presence. Lately he has moved on to doctors, he tells me. In the 1980s, when we first met, he had a pointed antipathy toward the work of Alice Walker. I was reminded of this just now when the phrase The Stupid of My Pretentious came to me. Thatís the mocking title he generated during a spontaneous rant over Walker and her book The Temple of My Familiar. It probably isnít even funny to you, but thinking about it always gives me a warm feeling.
Stephen came to San Francisco last week, pitching woo to a client, and we had lunch (linner? dunch?) together at the Berkeley Bowl. I'm hoping to visit him in May, while Duff is at a convention in Seattle.
Last night I dreamed the guy down the street was after us. He had gone through our house and gotten out all the knives and chased us around the yard with them. Somehow we scared him off and I went around the yard picking up all the knives, except I couldn't find my best one. I realized the bad guy was still after me and he had my knife. He was planning to kill me with my favorite knife! Asshole.
I met with Frank yesterday, for our writing workshop, and I had almost nothing to offer. I did scrape up four modified diary entries, but even here the pickings were slim. Why didn't anybody tell me that I wasn't writing enough? I didn't even realize it until I went through the archives. Only 18 entries since last November? That's pathetic. I'll never get anything done at this rate.
Good Christ, it's March already.