My phone rang twice today. Both times, I ran toward the phone, hoping to see numerals scrolling across the front, a phone number that wasn't in my phone, not letters, not someone's name. Both times, letters, Ethan's, Adele's. And I was happy to talk to both of them but slightly disappointed because I had been waiting for a call from that literary agency since the guy said he would make his decision by Tuesday, today. And the clock just struck five and so I think I am giving up on the hope that I will receive a call from them today, that I got the job. I guess it is safe to assume that I did not get it. I will probably call tomorrow just to confirm this bad news.

The weather's amazing and that's good news. I might still hear back from Harlequin and maybe I might get a call tomorrow from this agency. Who knows? Right now, though, I am a bit disappointed. Perhaps this is not the time to be listening to Joni Mitchell.

I have an interview tomorrow to be an operator at a gay escort agency, answer phones and make recommendations (like they are wine or something). It sounds like it could be funny, but it really isn't at all what I would like to be doing. Maybe it is the time to be listening to Joni Mitchell.

I did something that has been on my to-do list for the past week and I feel good about it, just for doing it, even though it isn't great and it is being done about a week later than I had meant to do it. I wrote a review of David Mitchell's Black Swan Green for my own benefit. I read another review of the book today and was mad at myself for not doing this thing that I had told myself I wanted to do, and by this point, had read too many reviews of the book to separate other people’s thoughts from my own. My goal was to make clear my thoughts on the book before they became clouded by the general critical consensus, which didn’t happen, but at least, I finally did write something.

I had tried a couple of days ago to outline my thoughts but only got distracted by rereading sections of the book and thinking about my own childhood. This book is really good for that, for letting you think about your own childhood, and being a young boy and playing in woods and seeing the world as this big, mysterious place. I have read nothing but amazing reviews of this book. Everyone seems to really love it. The review in the Village Voice is messy and not really a review at all and I don’t see how someone who hasn’t read the book, which I assume is most people since it only came out a week ago, could gain anything from this review. I, however, having read the book, found these insights and observations really amazing, some things that I did not pick up on at all. And after you read the book, which I encourage all of you to do, you should read Ed Park’s review.

I guess it is time to look at job listings again and time to put on some other music. I feel pretty good. Thank God for this weather.