March 18th, 2004


turning and turning in a gyre that's just turning itself, not widening a lick

That's bastardizing Yeats. Never did get behind that poem. Screw slouching toward Bethlehem.

Home from work with a cold today, but did get out for an appointment. I think the diligent pushing of fluids, including every time I awoke in the night, may have helped hurry the fever away, and the nasty ache and swelling by one ear has subsided---and for that, I am thankful. I hate an ear infection. I don't do well with any severe pain in the head.

I did miss the reprise of soup at work, but so it goes.

In the back of my head some part of me, some equilibrium factor, seems to expect me suddenly to find myself getting through this difficult time and, I think, everything being okay again. The front of my head knows it ain't gonna go down that way, and the rest of me---back of the head, heart, soul, etc.---is pretty peeved that it keeps butting in with reminders of cold, hard reality.

And it's STILL snowing in Michigan.