1. This has been the week of no. Or nothing. No response. No to requests. No to work. No no no. I am now whiny with the nothing. Whiny is not good but neither is no. Sometimes, I think there is a black hole of no.
2. Fiction is either the hardest or easiest genre. I think I type too slowly and read too quickly. Or read too slowly and type too quickly. Other genres, I'm better at the mix. Must I go in and describe the shadows produced by certain angles of sunlight upon the trees? Triangles. They are triangular.
3. Downtown festivities. Zoe just got picked up by her friend. They are going swimming then to the friend's house then downtown. Max is very, very sad that his sister left him. Perhaps I will take him downtown and he can pretend I am his friend but he already said that grown-ups are boring. "I just wish I had a friend. If I go Lumberyard I'll sit down by the grown-ups and play all by myself. I don't want to be lonely." I tried to explain that when Zoe was his age, he wasn't born yet (or just barely) and she had to hang out with us by herself all the time. He feels very sorry for her. "Every time she had to hang out with just you. Wow." He's writing his sadness in his notebook. One of us is the saddest writer. "I just want a friend." We are all full of wants, Mr. Max. Might as well write about it.