Every night you pray for their protection. You pray for their protection from you.

That dreadful moment when you realize you’re despised.

What if God is the world stripped of advertising?

Other people presented an unflattering mirror.

In compensation for his collapsing dignity and self respect he found himself engaged in escalating acts of grandiose generosity. 

Life stages
1) unfolding
2) refolding

Stopped by the Hudson River overlook where we used to take the girls on the way to New England. Headed into the snack bar set back from the cliffs. Asked the kid at the counter about the “Free beer tomorrow” sign we always joked about. “Oh, we can’t serve alcohol here,” he said. “We get all the jumpers now the bridges are closed off.” I took my coffee outside, but couldn’t bring myself to look down. You moved on long ago. I’m still falling.

Oh, what a mess we’ve made.

I have composed and destroyed countless works between the hours of 2 and 5 am.

In the harmonious spaces and bright clear sunlight of this elegant house, you feel an acute awareness of how coarse and awkward you’ve become. If only the light could pass right through you.

Night lifts over another sleepless dawn; a cacophony of birds in their vast canopy. Wordless. Hallelujah.

Cocktails on the lawn, alone.

Looking over your life’s work, you think how meager it turns out to be, and of your son, who regards it with disdain.

On the fifth anniversary of her mother’s death she found a lump on her breast. There was no one to tell; the roommate-slash-fuckup she occasionally slept with had skipped out in the middle of the night without paying rent. She wasn’t close with anyone at work, and anyway, she’d been laid off three weeks earlier. Yesterday she’d thought, “if one more thing happens, I don’t know what I’ll do.” And she’d been right: she didn’t know what to do.