Organizing my readings for fall classes, I picked a file folder from the stack I reuse at home. “Credit card info” was scratched out, and over it, written, in turquoise ink, “Tom Waits.” That’s what it did last time.
How was my life ever that simple? (And is it wrong to have a file folder entitled “Tom Waits”?)
(And what on earth did I file in that folder? Why can’t I remember?)
(To quote Joan Didion, “What kind of magpie keeps this notebook?”)