1) Proof of my ongoing existence in the land of the living: duly witnessed signed and stamped by State-approved authorities, and sent by registered mail to a government office in Québec. (One day after the Canadian government acknowledged it owed me eleven months in withheld pension benefits, the Québec government picked up the slack in cross-border paper shuffling.) Check this one off the list.
2) Footwork for further letters and photocopies in the Romanian doctor’s ongoing saga: also done.
3) Promise of packing materials delivered to my door by the wonderful staff person at the photocopy emporium. Blessed be the helpful who carry through on their commitments.
4) Resist the urge to shut off the phone before other requests, questions, appeals come in between now and the afternoon coaching session? Resist.
5) Move the story along by a few more paragraphs? Yes. Or sentences. Or words.
The announced Confession? Almost forgot: Last night, I laughed during several scenes of Roy Andersson’s A Pigeon Sat on a Branch Reflecting on Existence. I didn’t laugh during all the scenes, and I often wondered if the film was over or not. Still. I’m glad I saw it. Plus the sky was clear when I walked home. My landlord was leaning against his car and waiting for his dog to finish his night round, and we couldn’t agree on whatever star or planet it was, shining so bright in the northwestern segment of the sky above our heads.
onward, kadima, and so on.