Been exhausted for the past week. No more than five hours of sleep any night until Sunday. Dylan concert and Guggenheim opening (Spanish painting; EJ and I proved our philistinism; her observation re: a nude circa. 1800--"Look, she's had a Brazilian"; my analysis of a gorgeous Dali--"Makes me want a pomegranate") were much-needed respites from work but still contributed to exhaustion.
Struggling to create decent jacket copy for Fires even as publication date approaches. So excruciating to summarize one's own novel. Must get it done so the motherfucker can be published, though. Fell asleep on the subway this morning.