Those projects I couldn’t get my head around yesterday? They’re now out the door, sitting on some other poor slob’s desk. What a day. Four television spots, one brochure, and two pages of taglines.

Meanwhile, Indian summer is losing its grip on the weather. Slept with the windows open last night, but only partially. By morning, I’d wished I hadn’t. Day improved, little by little, but the comeback was slow and without much enthusiasm.

Friend sent an article, “Haunted by Hemingway” by Tim Egan. It talked about EH’s early days, calling them his happiest. Probably they were in a lot of ways. He was in love, writing well, doing the things everyone wants to do when he’s young.

The piece made me sad for Hemingway—as most pieces about Hemingway make me sad anymore—but happy for myself, because what EH had in the twenties and thirties I have now. It took a long time to get here. I hope the feeling sticks.