I swore up and down all weekend that I would take the day off to relax today and of course I chose to work for hours instead just as I have pretty much every day as long as I can remember. Now it's nearly twilight and I'm worn out and furious with my lack of resolve, so I'll just say the hell with it and go to Popeye's and then read Reborn, Susan Sontag's youthful diaries, which is exactly what I'm in the mood for:
"1/6/58. H back; games of sex, love, friendship, banter, melancholy resumed. Tells of a whorish, splendid time in Dublin. Christ, she's beautiful! and hard to be with, even on the plane of her own duplicity. Egotistical, edgy, mocking, bored with me, bored with Paris, bored with herself.
We've taken a high-ceilinged, white room in [Grand] Hotel de l'Univers, rue Gregoire de Tours, for the next nine days."