This is one of those "researching buddhist monastaries or isolated retreat centers to live in" days.

"It was gone, of course, but there was something else, something worse. She had made all these choices. She had discarded this and retained that and it hadn't mattered."

and also.

"Pauline had been quite right about the whales. Had they not cried out in the days of their destruction with exquisite and anguished song? Yet their pursuers, with a purppose unfathomable, wanted only to extinguish them. Indeed, man had reveled in the fine red mists that fell, as though from heaven, from the great collapsing hearts to herald the harried and bewildered creatures' deaths.

The inn where we had taken lodging was now in sight. I thought once again of the debt I owe Pauline. I owe her everything I am. I would even prefer that she would leave this life, in time, before me, though I do not feel strongly about this. Even so, it is proof of her success with me that I could entertain such a thought. One of us will be first, in any case, and until then, we have each other."

-- Joy Williams, Substance and ACK, respectively, from the collection of short stories Honored Guest

That last line of the story just broke me last night. I love reminders of why I love writing.

Let's admit we made a mistake, but can we still be friends?

Afternoons are such a struggle. I'm so much more productive in the morning, even when I think I'm not being productive. In the afternoon, I think I'm working, but look at the clock and look at the output and wonder, how the hell did it take this long? But I can do some things well in the afternoon. I can ride my bike to the post office. I can take naps. I can have good IM conversations. I can go for walks. That's about it.

Evenings are fifty-fifty. Tonight I don't have much choice, I gotta get this done. And to my own credit, I know WHAT I'm going to write, in my annotations, in my learning analysis, in my critical paper, etc. etc. I just need to do it. But the latter doesn't happen without the former and sometimes I'm really not procrastinating, I'm thinking. No really.

Note to self: stop using the phrase "put [them] in their place". It feels really really yucky and condescending and self-righteous and judgmental on the receiving side.

I'm listening to the itunes on my laptop and the "hip hop violinist" just came up, which is kind of a joke I have with limenal after my visit because she got this CD and she is so not hip-hop, even though she's had all these articles in magazines listing her as such. There are no turntables. No samples. No MCing. No graffiti. And one cannot b-boy to it. In fact, the CD itself said "File Under Jazz". And I would actually add file under "smooth jazz". Which, I know, sounds pretty icky, but it's still kind of appealing. Even if it does sound awfully like the theme song to Bob and Margaret, that weird british cartoon on Comedy Central several years back. Yeah, I said it.

Tonight I'm teaching with Moos and we're doing linoleum cut prints which makes me excited and happy, but also a little weird because I know I'll be thinking of her the entire time I'm carving.