Jury Duty in Manhattan isn’t all hardship. The courthouse I was in today was steps away from Chinatown, which to my mind means one thing and one thing only: vegetarian dim sum! (How could I not take advantage during lunch break and search out the place I always have trouble finding in order to have a mini-feast, including the infamous “treasure balls”?) But the other part of jury duty is far more serious. So serious, in fact, that I wonder if I am cut out to be a juror—me, the emotional, illogical, mess of a mess. If you were looking closely at me sitting in the jury box during all the many selection questions you would have seen my mismatched socks. Also the fact that I was clutching my neck, a thing I do when I am uncomfortable or, historically, on LSD. Needless to say (though I have a feeling it was for other reasons) I wasn’t picked.

I am expected back again tomorrow. Does that mean more vegetarian dim sum for lunch? It might, it just might.

That particular neighborhood of Manhattan gives me good memories. It was in one of those courthouses where e and I got married, you know, so I heaved many a romantic sigh waiting on the long line to get to the metal detectors.

But jury duty is no excuse for not writing. (I haven’t been writing… can you tell?) I think I might be afraid of my MacBook. Here it is, returned to me with a factory-fresh hard-drive and a brand-new top case so it looks and acts like a new computer—for the high price of free—and yet… And yet I keep having flashbacks of the day it died. I haven’t taken it out to write yet. I feel exhausted, anxious, under strain even though I’m under no strain. Still, I have to write all weekend, because…

I have more revisions to do. Yes, on the freelance manuscript I thought/hoped was done and over.

But, oddly, they messengered over the final payment today, the one due on d&a (delivery and acceptance). Does this mean the revisions are voluntary? I wish.