communique

I don't even know what to do with myself so I doubt Leah has the answers. Actually, this is a letter from The New Yorker asking about my gift subscription--Leah had bought one for me two Christmases ago and she is still getting harangued about renewing. Thankfully, old Kathryn gives us her read copies as both me and Leah's subscriptions have lapsed now, but we barely have time to even browse those anymore. On that note, back to my fifteen page steaming pile essay on Foucault and Snow Country.