I gave my office a makeover, as previously described. There's now room for even more books. The sill-height bench/shelf practically begs for houseplants to sit upon it, and the whole bench-sill-plant-window tableau would then beg to be gazed upon and sat upon by me, the sole occupant of the room, the one who gazes and sits. I concoct a scene to be looked at, and then I look at it, sparingly, but with satisfaction, or just think about it, since it's directly behind me and I'd have to crane my neck to see it, or turn my chair, which isn't a chair of the swiveling or castered type. To know that behind me is a pleasing tableau, available to receive my gazes whenever the mood strikes me, is soothing and reassuring, if ultimately a little disquieting. Maybe glances is a better word than gazes. It's important to refrain from overgazing. If you look at an empty room too long you will become so frightened it will chill you to the bone, as my mother was fond of reminding me when she tucked me in at night and set my humidifier breathing. A home movie of empty rooms is an unsettling document to behold, as demonstrated in Lost Highway.

I haven't had the best luck with plants. Some hardy, forgiving species were recommended to me. It's not like I want plants to wither and die before my very eyes. I suppose many houseplants die from overwatering. People overwater themselves, it stands to reason they'd drown their plants too. What is this contemporary mania for constant drinking, everywhere you look people have water bottles or so-called sports drinks strapped to their bodies or their bags, it's a sickness. Around 1990 everyone became absolutely parched at all times, some kind of hydration psychosis swept the nation. I struggle to remember to drink water. I have something to drink with a meal mainly because it's customary. How should I know when a plant is thirsty?

Look here, I have a cat, I have shown the ability to nurture and to protect in some rudimentary fashion. Twice daily I scoop out some brown pellets from the big bag and drop them into Sam's bowl, and I fill his water bowl too, fresh from the tap. I do this because I care and because he annoys me when I don't or if I'm even so much as fifteen minutes late. I clean out his litterbox, another demonstration of caring and also the ability to endure disgust. Never let it be said I don't do the least I can do. A cat is easier to take care of than a dog is, but even so a dog cannot take care of a cat. A child is harder to take care of than a dog, even a big dog, a big sickly geriatric dog, or a crippled crazy dog. A big old crippled crazy dog is still child's play compared to a child, even a sane child. I could take care of plants, I think I'm ready to take them on, and look at Sam, he thrives under my care, except for the extreme boredom he displays, but I could not look after a small child or infant. Children frequently use language to complain about the world and the quality of your childrearing, in the starkest terms they complain and ask terrifying questions, and then they stand there with tiny balled fists, in their little outfits, their little round sneakers and little jumpsuits and so on, and wait for the answers. Our dog is a Samoyed, his bright simple smile is bred right in.