Reset Forty-Two, Day Twenty-Nine
Jul. 31st, 2022 05:29 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rejectomorphMy plan Saturday (insofar as I plan anything anymore) was to put together a shopping list and then try to arrange a trip to the stores either Sunday or Monday. It turned out there was more stuff on the weekend sale at one store than the Monday sale at the other, but my brain was so muddled that I was unable to get my act together in time to arrange a Sunday trip. Actually I haven't arranged a Monday trip either. I'm wishing I could have timed things batter so I could go next week instead, but I'm out of so much stuff that I need to go this week. I'll try to make the arrangements today to go Monday, but I've grown so disorganized that it might not happen.
I've gotten past several dental issues that just sort of diminished over the last couple of years, but now I've got a tooth acting up that appears to be unwilling to conform to that pattern. In fact it feels like it might be forming an abscess, so I might finally have to bite the bullet as it were, lest I end up unable to bite anything. I think I've been having bad dreams lately, though I don't remember them. I just wake up with vague, fleeting images in my mind and that feeling that something awful has happened. It's most disconcerting.
Always up too late anymore it seems. But I can barely remember when it wasn't like this, or what it was like to be then. It might come back, in some form not quite the same, but similar enough. I wonder if I would recognize it if it did?
Sunday Verse
by Mark Strand
When you see them
tell them I am still here,
that I stand on one leg while the other one dreams,
that this is the only way,
that the lies I tell them are different
from the lies I tell myself,
that by being both here and beyond
I am becoming a horizon,
that as the sun rises and sets I know my place,
that breath is what saves me,
that even the forced syllables of decline are breath,
that if the body is a coffin it is also a closet of breath,
that breath is a mirror clouded by words,
that breath is all that survives the cry for help
as it enters the stranger's ear
and stays long after the world is gone,
that breath is the beginning again, that from it
all resistance falls away, as meaning falls
away from life, or darkness fall from light,
that breath is what I give them when I send my love.
I've gotten past several dental issues that just sort of diminished over the last couple of years, but now I've got a tooth acting up that appears to be unwilling to conform to that pattern. In fact it feels like it might be forming an abscess, so I might finally have to bite the bullet as it were, lest I end up unable to bite anything. I think I've been having bad dreams lately, though I don't remember them. I just wake up with vague, fleeting images in my mind and that feeling that something awful has happened. It's most disconcerting.
Always up too late anymore it seems. But I can barely remember when it wasn't like this, or what it was like to be then. It might come back, in some form not quite the same, but similar enough. I wonder if I would recognize it if it did?
Sunday Verse
Breath
by Mark Strand
When you see them
tell them I am still here,
that I stand on one leg while the other one dreams,
that this is the only way,
that the lies I tell them are different
from the lies I tell myself,
that by being both here and beyond
I am becoming a horizon,
that as the sun rises and sets I know my place,
that breath is what saves me,
that even the forced syllables of decline are breath,
that if the body is a coffin it is also a closet of breath,
that breath is a mirror clouded by words,
that breath is all that survives the cry for help
as it enters the stranger's ear
and stays long after the world is gone,
that breath is the beginning again, that from it
all resistance falls away, as meaning falls
away from life, or darkness fall from light,
that breath is what I give them when I send my love.
