i have spent the day in the corner, paper block on lap which wasn't heavy enuf to keep me from standing at intervals, going to the kitchen and fetching one piece of foodstuff or another. it's not like i have much but my initiative wasn't strong enuf to propel me out of doors to the produce stands, the pivot points of all commercial activity in this city on sundays. how can copenhagen even talk of halting immigration or sending newfolks back home? where on earth would they buy fruits to sweeten their own day of rest?

the news made me nauseous this morning. i've been sending troops of bread to my stomach to soak up the acid; unfortunately to little effect. salman at least has succeeded in distracting me. this evening another film, this one french (hopefully i won't be thinking of gasoline-bombed synagogues and dithering officials and that guy who destroyed the mcdonalds, what's his name, whose next triumphant-rebellious step was to squat with the chairman). i shouldn't talk politics, should i? deprived of dinner tables and mariah-across-the-hall, this becomes an outlet too often i guess. my apologies.

cheerfully: kris will be here in an hour and a half. we'll pool our boredom and then rise out of it, saved by fat girl. i always brood on sunday. there's nothing else to do. on sundays, i predict, i will be happy to be back in nonsectarian america. at least/not more than on, who can say?