December 22, 2019

Pastyme concert last night. Exquisite, but now and then a little precious, tenuous, the texture stretched a little thin. They need a few more voices. The concert inspired me to return to poetry, which I had abandoned during the great flood of prose. Could I get back? This morning told me, “yes.” Sat in High Five with my face to the wall, weeping with gratitude at having the door of poetry yet open.

The next phase of the day was realizing that Circe had seriously relapsed. Couldn’t find her until I looked in the remotest corner of the house, where her head was jammed into a corner. My vet was closed for Sunday, so took her to REACH. REACH is the only game in town after hours and on holidays, but there is something creepy about them. They charged me $500, and I suspect, from my poor cat’s unchanged condition, that they did none of the procedures they charged me for, but sent me home with amoxicillin to jam down her throat, hoping for the best. The illness of another is as exhausting as one’s own.