"...snow
melts midair
to rain.
Abbreviated..."
From "The Months" by Linda Pastan
***
Well.
I'm slightly back, and I definitely need more play time.
I decided to grab five minutes just outside our front porch to catch the small trees, and I need hours more like that.
School? The professor seemed to think my historiography journal redo was sufficient, as was my last journal entry, although I have no confidence that will continue to be the case. So I continue to split the logs of others' thinking with my dull axe and write/chop cordage as best I can. Michel Foucault has been reduced to firewood; Craig Owens is in progress.
Work? Well, here's a synopsis of March:
Go to Atlanta to work an industry trade show.
The next week go to London and manage a conference for my company.
And somehow get caught up on work and schoolwork when, the week after, I go to Corpus Christi to present a paper on Donatello's Penitent Magdalen.
The Mur is still not quite back to feeling right, but "the Dude abides".
And he is making pot roast for Valentine's Day, that sweetheart.
Okay, time to get back at that pile of logs I need to chop...
