I leave tomorrow. I am grateful for the niagara-force thunderstorm today. It makes me feel less preemptively homesick for this place. I am walking around the mansion with bare feet, putting books on the bible and various poisons back on the shelves in the hall. I shed two big garbage bags of paper. I never want to move this book again. People often mistake my full wagon of notes for a going-to-college load. There was a fire alarm at 2 am, and as we stood outside, I wondered whether I would be somewhat relieved if my notes burned. I have had countless dreams where small children crawl into my window in Brooklyn and reshuffle or knock over piles of index cards.