Friday

My mind has been a blank canvas most of the week.  I had a couple of epiphanies a few nights ago when I couldn't sleep, one was new, the other I'd heard before but it suddenly made sense to me (had to do with loving yourself, and why that would matter), but other than that, thoughts slip through with no resistance to keep them from vaporizing in the light of the sun.  I have no attention span, and no feeling of urgency that would seem necessary to get through all the work I need to get done and to find a place to live.  Time to make a list and check it off I guess, to feel like I'm accomplishing something.  Got another play mostly read, that's something, and a really long choir rehearsal last night...think I need to get my ears cleaned out, had trouble matching a b-flat, not sure why I can't hear it.  I've been defaulted into singing second lately, (back to first in the other choir) and that's always been a challenge.  I'd rather sing first, I can hit the notes, but we're suddenly short on sopranos.  It's a good workout for my brain, especially when it's in a fog.

But the sun is shining, and it's Friday, and someone carried my (massive stack of) mail when I wasn't looking.  And the bird continues to sing outside my window in the morning, returning after I don't know how long an absence:  I like it.  Life is good.  (I like Keats as well):

When I Have Fears that I May Cease to Be

When I have fears that I may cease to be

   Before my pen has gleaned my teeming brain,

Before high-pilèd books, in charactery,

   Hold like rich garners the full ripened grain;

When I behold, upon the night’s starred face,

   Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance,

And think that I may never live to trace

   Their shadows with the magic hand of chance;

And when I feel, fair creature of an hour,

   That I shall never look upon thee more,

Never have relish in the faery power

   Of unreflecting love—then on the shore

Of the wide world I stand alone, and think

Till love and fame to nothingness do sink.

 

-John Keats