Bookmarks: too many of them.
I have no idea how to organize my bookmarks on this computer. And, please, no need to tell me how. If I won’t throw things out of my car trunk, I certainly won’t delete anything here. I might need it someday. But the situation is getting problematic. To get onto my own blog, I have to travel past pistachio haddock, Pisa hotel, Yoga synchronicty, Casa Magni ( the house the Shelleys were living in when he drowned), byron chronology, asparagus lasagna, Atlas ultra book holder (I wish I had bought one; my books are a catastrophe; they’re on the floor, under the cat, on my lap, on a remote table, always inaccessible, always difficult), Guggenheim fellowship deadlines (I am not applying for one this year), Meyer lemon trees (I thought growing one might cheer me up and therefore spent considerable time researching my meyer lemon tree options but I never did buy one), Tarot readings.com (guidance), London walks, Palmetto patio set (just a fantasy: who can afford anything), Lake Como, Biographia Literaria, Tuscany apartments (just another fantasy), Phaedra the noose of words (why?), Shelley pictures, Booking.com. — on and on it goes. No wonder I haven’t gotten rid of any, although please forgive the hit or miss links — I got tired of putting them in. This is what I have been looking at and thinking about while I write this book or avoid writing this book, although I do not think it is avoiding anything to cruise around the web, I think it is resting, taking a break, trying to figure out what to do next.