Last night, I dreamed that Jo died. And I was distraught. I was beside myself. Crying and thrashing about. I couldn't believe it. I had just talked to her. I am relieved to be awake and coherent and to know that it was just a dream. I've had similar dreams about other people I love in recent months. I've awakened with tears in my eyes and been filled with despair. It's ghastly.

I was pleased to have talked Martìn into coming up and having sushi with me. We had a great time and far too much to eat. Although there was one point in the meal when it became apparent that the sushi chef did not understand our order or had not taken note of the things we had asked for, so the tide of sushi just came to a halt. And neither Martìn nor I seemed compelled to right the situation by simply speaking up. I finally did. But I realized that this is our chief mutual flaw. This almost ridiculous desire to avoid confrontation. Someday, it will cost me a vital organ. I'm sure of it.

I told Martìn that I felt the confidence of my superiority in the email medium. I made him laugh when I said that I at least am a competent writer and will not send emails that do not acknowledge the difference between "your" and "you're." He thought that was very funny. In fact, we laughed a great deal last night. Almost constantly. It was a rewarding way to spend an evening. To be sure.

It's hard to go to sleep when there are so many reasons to stay up. As much as I love a little rest, I collect it grudgingly. I would prefer to be on the go at all times. Sometimes the stillness is unbearable.