July 9th, 1978
It seems very important to me that I have done this.
Starting to clean house today. I was faced with what has become the chronic problem of cleaning my writing paraphernalia off my dining room table– which has been the only place in the house where I could spread myself out to write. My hot stuffy bedroom is so cramped that I can never make myself go there to write. No one has objected to the use of my dining room table as a study of sorts. But, it’s so unprivate there and late at night I feel that this humming whirring clacking typewriter must surely annoy anyone upstairs trying to sleep.
So, I transported my oak table (desk size) and the typewriter down here to the basement where I have the typewriter plugged into an overhead light fixture.
Now, in the musky bowels of the house, I have a place.