March 23, 2009

East mottled purple and azure, dark versions of those colors, before dawn.

Arrange for the plumber to fix the sink and the drain to the washer; wait while A-1 Appliances finishes re-venting the dryer (a task, typically, akin to reconstruction of the house) and installing new plugs, a project begun last week and mysteriously abandoned; go to the colonoscopy workshop on Wednesday; prepare for a lecture in Statesville on a book I’ve never read for Sunday; prepare for and attend four different types of rehearsals; sing a concert; do a reading at the GLBTQ conference; lecture on Persia and Alexander today; read through a class of research papers, three weeks’ of student plays, nineteen senior projects, about 10 Arch Brown scripts, mostly delayed by illness. Try to finish the Sublimity essays. This is the week alone; this does not include class or regular things, and I know I have left plenty out. Have to get out of this, have to shake things off. It cannot go on. Ten things must be eliminated for every one taken on, and this for a very long time.

Tried to call dad last night. Wakened by the electronic voice on the other end reminding me that the line had been disconnected.

Sang for Becky’s funeral. Much sadness, audible sobbing. Standing room only.

Cantaria sang for the Men’s Supper club at the very pink Victorian B&B on Biltmore. We sang well enough, given the circumstances, but the event was horrifying to me for reasons I am still figuring out. Too much energy was going into admiring the woodwork.