My snot today and yesterday is not the nice thick kind, but the warm, watery kind that contanstly drips out of your nose. Of course, it would conincide with Bonnie's short trip here, my getting sick. Yesterday, I watched the Roots play and kind of enjoyed it because I knew if I wasn't sick I would love it, so it became this giant act of pretending I felt better than I did and eventually I gave up, came home, and slept for thirteen hours.

Today, again broke, again rifling through my book collection which is probably a third the size it was when I quit the Strand, seeing which books are acceptable to sell (not many, they have already been pawned) and which of the ones that are acceptable, I would not mind parting with. I was thinking of selling my copy of Marcel Dzama's The Berlin Years, which after looking on AddAll, Abebooks, and Amazon, I discovered is extremely rare. There are only two copies listed on the internet, one for 350 and the other for 400. But then I had a flashback, thinking I might have used one of the 32 reproductions the book came with to make a card for someone once. I prayed that I had not, and went and counted through the reproductions. There were, there are, only 31 of the reproductions. I think it was a card for my mom. Now, there is no way the book will be worth anything near those prices, but I still might take it to Spoonbill and see how much I can get. Some of those short run McSweeney's book accrue value so quickly, it is a little obscene. The actual first issues of McSweeney's (not the later reprintings) are worth so much money. And this is a little flimsy paperback packet that originally retailed for $14 not even two years ago.