February 16, 2017

Milk-blue day. Working hard on everything, my play, reading stories for the Ruminate contest, trying to stay awake when the anemia wants me to lie down. Rage last night at choir when my voice kept shutting down. I pictured Christ as a beautiful blue-eyed young man, me telling him, “No, not this. You will leave my voice alone. This is not part of it. You let go and get out.” It seems that if there IS free-will, you ought to be able at some point to say,”No, sorry, not this.”  When I look in the mirror I see hair like a gray mop, but find no time for a haircut. Sold a chunk of my stocks– those I could without incurring huge capital gains charges–imagining that the chaos of the Brute in Washington must hit the markets before too long. Few of the contest stories are worth reading through to the end. Some give themselves away in the first sentence, and everything after is just sad confirmation.  Concert tonight, only two songs, so I may get through.