Alex called from  Mombasa just now. He’s safe. He’s broke. I’m broke. We compared notes on where future funds might come from. We went through our taxes. I have to get everything together and I didn’t know where all of the previous year’s info islocated. (Organization has never been our thing.) I asked him where the radon switch is – I’d been down in the basement looking for it yesterday to no avail – and also  if he could remember the whereabouts of Thomas’ rocket, which Thomas suddenly wants – no, needs. All of this was being shouted across oceans and continents, through waves of static – shchesscheeeeeessccheeeeee. This domestic stuff, the ongoing low-level background noise of a life that’s intertwined, this noise will never really end so long as we share our kids, which means forever.