What keeps sleep at bay throughout the night?: regrets about poor decisions; the anticipation of a fall; self recriminations over things that are long past and unalterable; the dissimulations of the heart; the soul’s torpor; the inexplicable circumstance; the unfulfilled longing; and the calculation of loss. 6.30 am: Awoke:
This morning, the fruit was dropped onto the Rice Crispies before the milk was added. Thus, I remained in full control of the consequences. (See! I’ve still the capacity to learn from my mistakes, in this area of my life at least.):
7.45 am: A communion. 8.30 am: Varieties of admin. I endeavour to get the irksome tasks completed first. Thereafter, I need dread them only in retrospect. 10.00 am: A FaceBook distraction, courtesy of an old friend and once time member of my teenage experimental-rock bands. Age has not mellowed him. This was the Johnny Seven Gun: a big hunk of plastic mayhem that required several children to lift. You could set the target a foot away from the weapon and still miss. On launch, from the example that I had, the grenade would cut an arc that ended about that far from the nozzle. In reality, you’d have been an self-inflicted casualty of friendly fire. Blown away:
10.15 pm: Back to my CD text. The narrative flowed, but I was in danger of overshooting my self-imposed word count. And, I was still short of a concluding paragraph.
12.45 pm: ‘Things I Can’t Do Well #329: Omelettes’. My omelettes suck. They’ve insufficient cohesion. I use far too much milk in the mix. But they taste fine:
1.30 pm: The first of two video conferences with PhD fine art students. There’re often times when, teaching at this level, tutee and tutor move beyond the bounds of strictly business to address a full-orbed humanity. The issues of life – our frailty, challenges, and beliefs – inevitably make their way into the centre of conversation. Such times are rich and memorable. What will we be to each other a decade hence?:
3.45 pm: Off to the Old College for an advisory tutorial with one of my colleague’s second-year painting students:
5.00 pm: Homeward in humidity. The police had cordoned-off the top end of town. Someone had threatened to throw themselves from the window above a shop, I was told.
7.30 pm: My eyes ached from lack of sleep. Thoughts churned over ponderously. I constrained by activities to responding to ‘easy-cook’ emails. Perhaps tomorrow I’d see the way forward with greater clarity and resolve.