Reset Forty-Nine, Day Eighty-One

[rejectomorph]

No busses ran over me in my sleep Saturday, neither in the morning, when I didn't sleep very well, or in the evening, when I slept better and longer. In between the sleeps I was scatterbrained and totally incompetent, not accomplishing any of the things I set out to do. That my be why dinner had to wait until after my second sleep, when I was finally able to get sufficiently organized to cook it. Thus I had my Big Meal at three o'clock this morning, and am only now having a bowl of ice cream as both dessert and bedtime snack. Yes, I intend to head back to bed and hopefully sleep some more.

We're into another triple-digit heat wave now, peaking Tuesday and Wednesday with highs of 105, and the night between dropping only to a sultry 77. It's been a pretty awful summer, but could have been worse I suppose, and it's almost half over, for which I'm quite grateful. But, damn, this week is going to be hellish I fear. But if I survive it I get rewarded a week from today with a Sunday high of only 89. Hooray? I guess.




Sunday Verse

Night Piece

by Juan Ramón Jiménez

  The ship, slow and rushing at the same time, can
        get ahead of the water
but not the sky.
The blue is left behind, opened up in living silver,
and is ahead of us again.
The mast, fixed, swings and constantly returns
—like an hour hand that points
always to the same hour—
to the same stars,
hour after hour black and blue.
The body as it daydreams goes
towards the earth that belongs to it, from the other earth
that does not. The soul stays on board, moving
through the kingdom it has owned from birth.

–translated by Robert Bly