i've kind of got the blues, and a pouring-down rain interrupted much of my hard work, so I've been simply shut up in my room working on my various writing projects.

on the writing front Prairie Leveretts is just about done, and so along with it I have to pull together Accounts and Genealogy of the Leverett family, a volume that publishes lots of the sources i've been working with, taken from crinkly brown paper back in the genealogical files. I don't want to publish the book until I publish the accounts, for some reason, namely that I've drawn so much from the accounts that to say they're out there when they're not, or to put wrong page numbers on them, seems wrong. it also seems wrong to come out with a Leverett book after a nine-month hiatus from publishing anything, when lots of fans are waiting for me to produce anything. Maybe it's time to write that novel instead?

the parking in the living room of the 19-year-old has caused some stress and consternation. for one thing, he intimidates his mom and makes it difficult for her to rest. she loves him dearly and will literally make anything he asks for in the kitchen. meanwhile she'll actually tell me not to leave in fear that he'll want a ride, need a ride, she'll be unable to give it to him, and he'll blow his stack so to speak or become very upset. He's notoriously impulsive but really it's more of a question of whether she can handle those sporadic episodes of unreasonable stress that seem to center around his not getting something he wants. so we're hostages? that sounds kind of silly but it's kind of how it feels.

so i set about going through the crinkly-paper file (old genealogy) and much to my wondrous surprise there are all kinds of treasures in there, mostly related to things Will found or sought as Pottawattamie County Historical Society secretary (?) seeking information. the paper in many cases crinkled right as i handled it. i got lost in some of the contents and there went the afternoon.

when i sit on the bed, as i'm doing right now, because that's the best place in the house to type these days, the puppy comes up and joins me, curled around, and up against me. he's sleeping with one eye open. he knows i might pet him at any minute, and that he has to hold his spot in case another dog comes along demanding attention. still, he gets pretty comfortable and doesn't want to be budged from his spot.

as part of my accounts book i have to gather in some different documents and type them. this may be my next project, because i find my sight declining and i won't be able to read these crinkly papers forever. it's a race against time, you might say, though by going back into it, in order to understand this stuff, one risks not coming back, or coming back altered by awareness of things in it. it's a different world, for sure. lately i've taken a kind of solace in it, as if all these old white guys trying to reconstruct their pasts and their ancestors is a kind of antidote to the world i live in, with young kids falling prey to constant hunger and desire for more money or drugs. or mcdonalds. we all have our monkeys on our backs.