Irene

Irene came. I had coffee, got untorpid, cleaned my room. We filled up some bottles of water and laughed about how unprepared we were. I read some Lear, the storm scene. We discovered that Netflix has disappointingly few streaming movies with Spanish subtitles; Children of the Corn was one that did. It lived up to its title; there were many shots of corn.

Around midnight, ran around in Fort Greene Park. It was a good summer rain. Saw that a tree had fallen across the street, but not the elegant ginkgo. Just a spindly something or other. Around 3 a.m., Lucas figured out that each of three leaks we had going, on three floors of the house, were all really part of the same leak. We went onto the roof and found the problem: a hole in the gutter, which we fixed with carrots and Chiclets.

Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks! Rage, blow,
You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout
Till you have drenched our steeples, drowned the cocks!
You sulph’rous and thought-executing fires,
Vaunt-couriers of oak-cleaving thunderbolts,
Singe my white head; and thou all-shaking thunder,
Strike flat the thick rotundity o’th’world,
Crack nature’s moulds, all germens spill at once
That makes ingrateful man.