Still Sick

I was thinking of doing a “workers of the West Village” series, not that the picture below is a very good start, alas.

It’s hard being sick, because I live such a hermit-like existence as it is. Adding staying home more because I don’t feel well puts me into the ridiculously-hermit-like range. This also goes into the near-constant-self-criticism pile. Ugh.


Home Sick

Not as in I’m homesick, but I’m home sick. I don’t feel like doing anything. I think I have just enough food in the house to get by. Hey, before I forget, is anyone going to Jon Stewart’s Return to Sanity rally? I’m thinking of going. It’s so easy. DC is very close for me.

Anyway, I’ve been doing a ton of reading about Haydn, and what popped out for me were the affairs he had. The man was a musical genius, but I’m afraid that this is what I plan to write about. Sorry, Haydn. His wife was having an affair too by the way, so I don’t get the sense that anyone was hurt. I just can’t resist these letters he wrote.

I’ve often thought this building on the corner of Perry, Waverly and Seventh Avenue was like a mini-West Village Flatiron Building.