Some time later

 Some time later . . . 

I saw Michael Gerson on television in the common room the other day: He was talking cheerily about being hospitalized for depression. He’s written about it, too; I read one of the articles. He’s telling his story. That’s good.

     I’m not telling my story because there isn’t one. That’s my experience: There is no story.

Some years ago I bought used an anthology called . . . Anti-Story, I believe.* I thought I might find something helpful for writing this in it, so I went looking for it this morning after Roz came to get me and brought me home. Uncle Albert was with her. She had to go back to work for a while, and he was going to stay with me until she got home.

     I thought I knew right where the book was, or at least what other books it would be with; but it wasn’t there. And I didn’t know where else to look.

03.04.19

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 * I was right. I looked it up on the internet: Philip Stevick, ed., Anti-Story: An Anthology of Experimental Fiction. New York: The Free Press, 1971.