December 30, 2019

Early dark morning, waiting to take Circe for her procedure. She crawled so gently into bed and up against my chest that I didn’t know she was there until I woke.

Thought about what I should remember of this year. On the good side, I brought out two novels. They have not made much of a splash, or if they have I’m late in hearing about it, but they are good and I am proud of them. That they have made less of a splash than many MANY not as good as they is part of my old argument with the clouds. Not in the mood just now. But, I set them as a seal upon my heart.

Finished Diving into the Moon, Tub, and Jason of the Apes. What their fate may be cannot be imagined, but they too are good. To them I have done justice. Maybe I should summarize all with that: I have done justice.

My garden was excellent.

The sweetness of people extending their time and talents to realize my plays.

Unusual number of testimonials from former students, and friends. Maybe they sensed my need.

Made an important journey to the Holy Land, which I continue to contemplate.

The worst of it was witnessing the death of the university to which I dedicated my academic career. It may continue as a degree-granting apparatus, but its relevance as an institution of higher learning is gone, or at least interrupted. You cannot at once falsify and stand for truth. You cannot serve both authoritarianism and free thought. You cannot reward mediocrity and claim to honor excellence. You cannot move forward with the administration more important than the thing administered. You cannot pretend forever to be something you have stopped being. I have been a voice crying in the wilderness, and I am not good at it. It never occurs to me that anyone hearing the truth might hate it.

December 29, 2019

Saint John, Holy Innocents– I don’ know what today is. Holy Family, I think. Circe goes up and down. Added to her symptoms is ceaseless slobbering. I remember this is what Theseus had when he died. The knot in my chest is anxiety.

Baking, preparations for Tuesday night. Doing some writing.

Why is it I still think lesbians kissing in public are showing off? I started to say, “You don’t see men behaving that way,” but you don’t see men in Asheville publicly displaying physical affection much at all. A difference in culture, I guess. Gay men have gone underground here. We have domesticated. Gay women have not.

Here is the truth of my life, following me into another decade. (--too bleak to share--)I do expect some compensation from this, some gift from the Almighty that would make it all right. It would be hard to imagine what that would be. In any case, it hasn’t come.

December 26, 2019

In some ways the sweetest Christmas in recent memory. Circe was better. I did some baking, but mostly lounged half-asleep with Christmas music from classical stations shimmering on the air. Completely restful, rather magical. I am still able to think pure thoughts.

December 25, 2019

Happy Christmas to all. Circe walked down the steps, ate her pills in a glob of tuna, and does not have her head stuck in a corner. I count that a victory.

Services last night were quite beautiful, I think, and we sang well enough even for the occasion. Gave Sean and Alden the presents I had intended as a joke for David and Daniel, seeing that I will not be driving to Atlanta this morning. 

December 24, 2019

Cloudy Christmas Eve. Circe could be lured out from hiding, gobbled tuna in which I had hidden her pills. She climbed the stairs and tried to be in the study for a while, but Maud, not recognizing her in this state, hissed and growled. I don’t know how lasting her rally will be, but my little cat’s being that much better will allow the spirit of Christmas to reign over me, as it does now, listening to sad Christmas music on my computer. For the divine spirit comes about her body to sustain it in complete cat.

DJ and Russell and I into the masses last night to see the 9th and, as they say, the last of the Star Wars epic. I thought it was a moderately entertaining mess. Some of all those millions could have been spent upon a story.

Toward evening– Circe continues to improve, even wandering a little. I spent the afternoon semi-conscious, in a state of bliss brought on by the flood of unexpected sunlight and carols coming at me from every direction.

December 23, 2019

Bought my altogether too expensive flight to Ireland.

Listening obsessively to “The Christ Child’s Lullaby.”

Andrew Finn McGill and his friends gave a concert at All Souls– Christmas carols on violin and guitar, cello, hurdy-gurdy-- of shining excellence and giving deep satisfaction. I closed my eyes and went elsewhere, praise.

Woke and again had to search for the vanished Circe, who’d found another place to hide, head jammed into a corner. She is now at the All Pets. I have spent $900 on a cat’s infected ear. I expect the same today. As I said, exhausting. You get an infection. You get treatment, the infection gets better. I confess myself baffled.

Depression and uncertainty over Circe made me switch into self-anesthesia mode, and I have slept most of the day. The Lord was just in keeping me from being in charge of any humans in their crisis.

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.