Minesh has left, gone back to The Smoke. Sweetheart that he is, I saw him to the airport Wednesday and took a bus back into town. He’s left me a small stack of fascinating seeming books with erudite notes written in the cover pages that I know I’ll never have the cleverness to match. They’re sitting next to my bed, now, waiting for me to pick them up and soil their pristine pages with my fingerprints. When he sent me a note to say he got home safe, which I never doubted he would, I sent him a copy of Maginalia.
As if to gracefully ease absence, the airport then apologetically delivered up Michael Green late Thursday night for the tail end of the PuSH festival. Which means, lovelies, that I am generally unavailable for shenanigans until Tuesday. Call me then and don’t expect me to be home checking my messenger.
Heart of the World news, there isn’t any positive. Monday I sign papers to the effect that if I give them the deposit, they will not pursue any legal action against me. There’s nothing else I can say.
It tears my heart.