All is well. I had a long chat with mom. BJG got up and went for another milkshake down the road with the dogs and to walk them. I am suddenly reminding myself of having written Maman a la fenetre, a work a bit of genius I still think today but totally odd and I was a nutjob in many ways when I wrote it in 7 weeks, day and night, in 2020. The high was awesome and BJG and I were totally alienated from each other that year. But having such an intense autobiographical project was completely absorbing me 110%. I was surprised when no one wanted to publish it nor comment on it in Quebec's publishing editors. One older gentleman friend read it and loved it. But nobody else ever commented on it. I find it strange and actually quite surprising something so intense can be such a flop with everyone else.