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I am amazed suddenly by the number of secrets I know about people. Friends, friends' lovers. It's a bit unnerving. I suppose I understand the need to confide, and I understand that I am naturally, perhaps, someone people confide in, but some of these secrets involve things like the gay husband of a friend who does not know--supernova kinds of things that have come across the desk in my head indirectly. You know, a memo got passed from one person to the next to the next until, oops, it got to someone who cares. And then she cares until she hurts.

How much do we ever not know about each other?

How much should we ever really know, anyway?

I feel remarkably enlivened today and yesterday, as if there are birds flying behind my eyeballs.