November 17, 2011

Too spent after a day. Even the next morning I, sometimes, feel not totally recovered. The weekends are obliterated by duties, so in effect I’ve had twenty days without a break. I hear my head repeating the mantra “one day. . . one day. . “ as if a mere 24 hours with no demands other than those of my soul would restore everything. Probably they would. People say, “Oh, it will only take a minute,” not realizing, or not caring, that a minute is an interruption as surely as an hour. Half the things I bring on myself, wanting to have done this or that without wanting to do it, wanting to look back in satisfaction on what gave no satisfaction in the performance.

Uncharacteristically waiting for dawn before setting out. Maybe I dreamed of bears in the back yard.