At seven in the morning telephone the artist to help him get out of bed. He had asked this as a favour in such a case, he had a class first thing in the morning. He sleeps too well.
Make coffee and breakfast, read the news and solve the daily puzzle. Then there is the known feeling of weakness and tiredness.
Return to the bed and sleep deeply until midday.
At least that is welcome. Before falling asleep hear the heart racing, it seems to thump like an engine. Then it slows, and sleep comes. What is that?
Awaken and make the changes to the artist's visiting card, send him a copy with a request for confirmation.
Spend the whole afternoon clearing up the sons room with the son. There are layers of things on the floor, layers that go back some years. Work through all the parts of things, of toys, and of papers. Spiders scuttle away, there peace and quiet of the previous few years disturbed.
The son makes some miniature pancakes for lunch. They are not particularly good. He seems to have developed a taste for convenience foods.
At six in the evening it is enough. Go downstairs, lie down for half an hour.
The son comes down to give his thanks for the help. That is nice.
There will be a reading in the studio this evening. It is probably a good idea to go.
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