There's this incredible feeling of enraged restlessness that I'm sure has something to do with having just come back from California to a cold, grey place. More particularly, I don't want to be where I am right now, sitting where I am sitting, looking at what I am looking at, expected to do what I am expected to do. I have got to get out of here. Worse, I have a sore throat. I hate sore throats. That reminds me I once saw a clip of a pornographic movie called Sore Throats that made me never want to watch porn again. I'm eating lozenges. Last night I fell asleep way too early--I can't believe how early I fell asleep. I read a short story by James Salter and another one by George Saunders. Does my last name sound Italian or something else, like Romanian?