This month Rachel turns 16 this month and I turn 40.
I am reading Boy Alone, by Karl Greenfeld. I am very glad that I read his father’s books before I got Karl’s having done so I can see a couple interesting things. Karl likes to play with language more, he is less the reporter and more the memoir writer and he uses that early 21st century conceit of throwing in a polysyllabic word vainglorious into his writing here and there — the kind of word you either deduce from context or (if the obsessive thing hits) sends you scurrying for the dictionary to confirm that pulchritudinous does in fact just mean beautiful.
Half the household is ill.
Daylight savings time ending throws me for a loop. I enjoy the extra sleep, but I don’t enjoy the dark evenings so much.