A few peculiarities

Last night, Ida and I spent several hours seated, at a respectable distance, on the sofa in our sitting room watching television. As those miraculous light-filled images of personages far away in time and place flickered across the bulging screen, I could not help but glance occasionally at my dear wife's profile lit by the faint blue glow of our most prized contraption. The television program Leverage, upon which my wife frequently discourses during tea, aired a charming play on honesty and deception last eve. My wife watched with rapt attention, though I, alas, had difficulty following the machinations of those swashbuckling characters.

I was, I believe, much too taken by dear Ida's profile in that faint blue glow and the continuing calculations of my feeble mind regarding the madness that my novel has become. Indeed, after Ida had retired early to the boudoir, I spent several hours writing and managed to pen, in a most figurative manner, an ensuing chapter. It is a chapter, I fear, that reduces propriety and domestic stability to little more than a midsummer's dream. Furthermore, after having worked for what I deemed a suitable amount of time, I remained restless and concerned by the reception the work may be receiving elsewhere.

Such immediacy, I do not doubt, is a peril to the honing of finely wrought words and paragraphs. Yet, already, there is response. The public is speaking, though I oft may struggle to understand what they say or why they might say it. Take for example, this analysis. Apropos of nothing, the author evokes Marx and the working class, who in all frankness, remain largely absent from my tale of fallen petite bourgeoisie. Unlike the brief morality play Ida and I enjoyed within the context of Leverage, the means of production here are not quite so quantifiable as tapes. Moreover, there is a merger of capital and worker that I daresay Marx might never have envisioned. The dilemma then is merely in methods of distribution. The media, like the tapes on that television morality play, becomes central to the conundrum.

But perhaps there is something to what he's said? I must reflect further upon these troubling notions. I must continue my work without neglecting the attentions of dearest Ida.