Wonder

30.ix.16

Dreadful. Before I’ve managed to hide and lose myself in work on a new book I behave like Stig Dagerman: waiting for the postman as if God were writing me. Only when I hear that rustle in the letterbox does the tension let go. By that time half the day has gone. During periods like these I genuinely wonder what would be easier: to find peace to work or to make Sunday the only postal delivery day.