I had another bad bout of being unable to eat, starving myself, which I seem to be coming out of, thank fuck. Because I've lost so much weight I'm avoiding mirrors.
And Susan Ellison has died. I got the news this morning. I first met her in March 1995, and she was usually the one who answered the phone when I called Harlan.
Bit by bit, piece by piece, and even things that have nothing to do with this crisis feel like they do.
Tomorrow, I have to fucking work.