Went to see a friend's play tonight -- a sharp little relationship dialogue between four neurotic people. (Pretty sure I heard one or two things I've said before, which was a little disturbing.) Asked if I'd been writing -- a question I imagine some people are comfortable answering . . . but they probably write more than I.

On Monday begin work in Jersey City; put on the corporate uniform, do my job. Supposed to be eighty and sunny. Salt in the wound. But good to have a taste of routine for a little while, see how other people do their thing, enter the belly of the whale, all that. Feel reassured that I can, when necessary, do a decent job on something that requires some skill. And test my resolve: do I love journalism enough to do it at the end of a long day, at the expense of my leisure?