51/10: Scratch

[rejectomorph]

Saturday afternoon I got around to eating Friday dinner, which might have originally been intended as Thursday dinner, and then I slept a whole lot (like seven or eight hours, I think) and got up this morning at still very dark o'clock and ate Saturday's (that might have originally been intended as Friday's) dinner, so I might be almost caught up on dinners, though I don't expect to ever finish this task. I'm just glad I don't have to eat that stuff again, and that I got to sleep a lot, because I don't especially enjoy eating, but sleep is way better than being awake.

Drinking is something I do generally enjoy, and right now I'm finishing a bottle of Guinness, after which I'm thinking I Might go sleep some more. One would think that I would be slept out, but I'm not. In fact I'm nodding off as I type, and I'm not at all sure I can finish this entry before I crash (hopefully not to the floor.) The main thing that's keeping me awake a the moment is that my neck has gotten itchy again, and I can't fall asleep while scratching it. But boy would I like to. I suddenly find being awake downright offensive.

Happy Autumn.



Sunday Verse

Sea Sonnet

by Alice Oswald


The sea is made of ponds—a cairn of rain.
It has an island flirting up and down
like a blue hat. A boat goes in between.

Is made of rills and springs—each waternode
a tiny subjectivity, the tide
coordinates their ends, the sea is made.

The sea crosses the sea, the sea has hooves;
the powers of rivers and the weir's curves
are moving in the wind-bent acts of waves.

And then the softer waters of the wells
and soakaways—hypostases of holes,
which swallow up and sink for seven miles;

and then the boat arriving on the island
and nothing but the sea-like sea beyond.