On Sunday, June 18, 2006
he read in a short story by Loorie Moore, "In a life where there is only the bearable and the unbearable, a sigh of relief is an ecstacy."

On Friday, June 16, 2006
turbulence woke him from a sound sleep. The cabin was dark and he felt surprisingly comfortable in his coach seat. The plane dropped about twenty feet and his stomach went into his throat. More jolts and shakes. A steady, severe pummmeling at the hands of air currents. Through a porthole across the aisle he could see the sun coming up through the clouds, a bright, serene orange and and yellow glow on the dark thunderheads that towered over the west.

On Thursday, June 15, 2006
a duck ate out of his hand. The duck was an asshole.

On Tuesday, June 06, 2006
the rain came in a solid torrential downpour. The cabin was dark and heated by a woodstove. If not for his impatience, he would have been very content, with a stomach full on a breakfast of soup and granola bars and several beers. They played cards and joked and he tried to keep his attention from wavering.

On Friday, June 02, 2006
at a show in Michigan, a girl asked him where he's from. "Wisconsin." She made a sour face. "Wisconsin? Yous guys beaches suck!"