i haven't left the house since r. left the house. i'm nearing the end of the book 10:04. my attention is wandering in place. it seems to be notes toward something, toward a cohesive being? consciousness as a bridge (floating) between past and future (never arriving). i wave a peace sign at penny in her rocker, she is peaceful i'm relieved to say. i may be vague but not too jangly. i've accomplished next to nothing as they say but the finishing of a book and almost another book. almost there. almost there can be any distance and nowhere. the feeling of being on the way is accompanied by a stasis unsettled but accepted by virtue of not having another present to occupy only thrust into this improvised without a plan, improvidence wishful of improving. it's really nothing and then next i'll get next to. there's a text that doesn't serve to advance the plot. there's a plot that's suspect that doesn't serve what is real. this is.