Between projects. I am always wondering what to do next. I have so many partial projects that I took to the point that I understood them and stopped; there is always a book I can pick up, look at, wonder whether today is the day I should study it harder, see something new in it. There is so much of that in a writing life. I suppose I can claim that I have lived a writing life. At any rate I am making the assertion. It would have been better to do things differently. Plan more. But I am not really that person. It is either that I have too much patience or that I am too willing to put a book down in order to think about it or that I am innately indefinite. Prone to wander. Procrastination is us. Typing that word “doubts” makes me wonder why I have so many. The function of age? The fact that I have turned out to be a middling sort of person? Or is it simply the way writing works for me now? There are so many kinds of books that I would like to be able to write but I am narrower than I believed when I was young. This is a muddle, might as well let it be. I am at the muddled age in a muddled world. So back to work. Which will it be? I only have so much time left.