September 20, 2010

Quite hot, but also quite dry, so the effect was comfort rather than misery. The garden holds. The morning glories are an undulating carpet of blue. They want to climb, but I have made them spread, and they spread happily enough.

Gombert on the CD. Parsifal is on my truck CD player, and, believe me, there is a dissonance–a delicious one, it turns out–between Wagner and pick-up.

I am out of the social loop at the studio. It would probably take up too much energy to be in it, but still I feel a twinge of regret. Henry the dog appears to a chorus of “Oh, Henry! You’re back!!!” and as many hugs as the dog will endure. I enter to a terse. “Hi.” Henry is cuter, after all.

Harassed by a student who earned an F in my class, but was given a C in an act of mercy, but who now complains that she was ill-treated. Perhaps she is simply mischievous, but my guess is that she sincerely misreads the situation, to a degree bordering on the insane. I take it as a cautionary exhibit, though, remembering all the times I cried out fiercely when I was wholly in the wrong. I was not obliterated; neither shall she be. What gives us our sense of self-worth? Upon what do we base our estimations of what we have earned and what we deserve? On the other hand, because one perspective prevails it doesn’t mean it was right, merely that it won. Nights have passed with me outlining, with equal measures of fury and reason, the ways in which God was wrong and I was right. I might maintain that, even in the coolness of this hour, the fact nothing changed does not mean I was wrong, only weak.

Would I have my way in my life rather than God’s? Oh yes. Oh, yes, yes. Yes. Yes. Extend the yeses to the end of the page, to the end of all pages. I would agree this is an indication that I have many lives to live, and my soul has just started on its journey. Considering that, the answer is still yes. . . yes. . . yes. .

Jupiter unfathomably bright–as though the moon and he were the only things in the sky.