April 20, 2013

Woke at the wrong point in the sleep cycle, and woke grumpy. It’s a shame, for yesterday was in many ways quite lovely. Good discussion of Mamet in class. I’m oddly practical in discussion of theater, concentrating on how things are done and why they are done that way, as though I were giving away some secret if we delved deeper into the spirit, a secret which is not yet mine to give.

Glory in the yard. I stood at the window in time to see a pileated woodpecker at the little stump that used to be the hemlock tree. He flew in a diagonal across my window. Then in the evening, practically at last light, the first hummingbirds came to the feeders. I don’t know what else they would have eaten–maybe the lilacs–had the feeders not been hung the day before. It’s a shame God and I continue on such bad terms; there is so much to praise him for.

If I were to die today, the summarizing emotion of my life would be illimitable bewilderment, darkened by fury here, emblazoned by bolts of supernatural joy there. Only the fury can be fully accounted for.

Reaching the time of the semester when each day is blasted to smithereens by tiny duties, snuck-in requirement which singly seem likely enough, but together spell annihilation. I cannot use a partitioned day; it all must be spread before me pristine or it is no use. Am I a writer? Am I a painter? I forget.