About twenty-nine days, that’s what. The time it takes for the moon to fall dark and full again. Slow weather changes, busy times. The days curtailed and nights cooler. I brought the chile bush inside. Planning for a Halloween party. Nearing a year in this house. We moved in last Halloween. Drank beer. Watched marathon of Simpsons Halloween episodes. Will repeat next Tuesday. Saturday night having big Halloween bash. Many coming. Wine and beer. Must order. Do I drink too much? Probably. But other people drink too much and they make it all right. Who am I kidding? Maybe they don’t. Maybe they aren’t all right at all. Cookies. We’ll have Halloween-shaped cookies and people will dress in costumes. Some people won’t wear costumes. Say they are dressed as themselves, whatever it is they do. Student, office worker, part-time gad-about with ambitions to full-time sluggery. The slugs in Gordon’s food bowl every night, are they poisonous? I should look into it, look it up on Wikipedia. They know everything. Not the slugs, Wikipedia. Are their slime trails poisonous? A month since my last post. Jason’s right. I hope they’re not poisoning my dog. Dog guts, strong guts, rot gut. Gut bug going round. Tennis coach got it. Hope I don’t get it. Had something like that this summer, lasted a week, thought I was dying. Wouldn’t want to go through it again. Feeling the mortality but not in a good way. Not like when you almost get struck by lightning but don’t. That’s invigorating. This was depleting. Felt like a mine shaft. Are Halloween cookies too childish? Will people love them? Or will they laugh? I wouldn’t laugh. I would eat my cookie solemnly, sweetly, cherishing its sweetness, delicious pumpkin-shaped goodness. That’s how one should comport oneself at a Halloween party with Halloween cookies. The leaves are half-fallen. For a while there were long dark nights not too cold and all the leaves heavy on the trees’ arms. Now many, brown, litter the ground. If you kick them Gordon leaps up to snap. The colder air sends him mad. He wants to run. Too hot for dogs in summer. Took him out and he’d lie down. When I wanted to walk he’d lie in the shade. Little bastard. It’s never enough. Dogs are need. Not loyalty or love or all that other shit people say: need. Not even desire as that implies the ability or possibility of self-actuation. They always need something from you. One more thing. Need. Jason’s right, it’s been a month since my last post. Now this garbled nonsense. What’s one month. At least a year in cyberspace. Probably ten.