A dream last night: An old apartment, dusty, and a plastic caulking over old phones--heavy black AT&T phones but with pushbuttons on the front panel. And next to the phones an answering machine, with messages from 1989 from my mother. All very apologetic, filled with news that I couldn't understand. Incomprehensible messages are a staple of dreams. Then awake.

While down for her surgery this weekend I ate and ate. With my brother and sister-in-law. But I exceeded them--I was away from home. Peanuts and beer and pizza and treats.

On the way back on the train I was tempted to write. There is something about traveling that makes me want to write, "I am traveling." As if there were some meaning to the journey. Look at me, going places. But I do love the backs of buildings, the weird industrial sprawl that hugs the waterline--plants five-stories tall with silver-colored tubes. The surgery was success, and now we'll wait for biopsy results.

February 13, 2012 - Breakfast

February 7, 2012 - Breakfast