January 31, 2013

Stood in the yard in the cloudburst, trying to dig a channel to keep the rainwater–which was coming like the Columbia down my steps and across the patio– out of my cellar. Now, there’s no evidence that it was going into the cellar, but it’s one of those notions you get, and you don’t check the actual status of the cellar because if you do and it’s as bad as you think it is— maybe I was just releasing pent-up energy. I flushed a mole, and was sorry, for of all the creatures who are bad-off in the deluge, he is the most bad-off. Where could he possibly go? The water was inches deep even on the flats, for a few minutes.  I was willing to scoop him up and protect him, but there was no way I could convince him that was the safer path.

Exhausting Wednesday, waking Thursday not particularly rested but still ready for it. The cleaning ladies come today, and why that is such turmoil I can’t explain. Guests in class yesterday to hear about The Bacchae, a play which I thought I understood until I taught it this time.

I want a cosmic pie to fly into the face of everyone who says there’s no point in making gun regulations because “criminals” won’t obey them. What regulations DO criminals obey? Why have any laws at all? Besides, it is not criminals who do the most shocking harm, but sad teenagers and desperate souls. Sad and desperate have a cure and an end as long as you haven’t shot everybody and yourself first.