52/148-149: Clocked
Jun. 29th, 2025 08:54 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rejectomorphSometimes I wake up and think two days have passed when only one is gone, and sometimes I wake up and think one day is over when two have gone by. And some days I wake up and can't remember how many days I thought had passed on how many previous days, and that was Today. I do know I got groceries on Friday, and the store only had to give me a substitute for one item, and I only forgot to order two others, so I'm in pretty good shape for now. And of course I have donuts, so I won't complain about the food situation.
But the heat has been appalling, and there's no way I won't complain about that. This is the third night in a row with the air conditioner running, and I've been sleeping so much and failing to sleep so much that I feel I might now be permanently logy. Still, I've also cooked a dinner two nights in a row and eaten too much, so the catastrophe is pretty much my own doing. I guess it always has been, but I'm inattentive and failed to notice all those years gone. Or how many days each day was or wasn't.
I think it's time to make dinner again, or go to sleep, but I suppose I'll figure it out. Three more very hot days with very warm nights, then a few merely hot days with merely balmy nights. After that more triple digit highs and sweltery lows for July to bully us. Not my favorite time of year. Can't I just skip summer and go straight to October? No? Well then time is the dick I always suspected it to be. The dick that Hickory dickory dock warned us about. Why didn't we pay heed?
Sunday Verse
by Dylan Thomas
This bread I break was once the oat,
This wine upon a foreign tree
Plunged in its fruit;
Man in the day or wind at night
Laid the crops low, broke the grape's joy.
Once in this wine the summer blood
Knocked in the flesh that decked the vine,
Once in this bread
The oat was merry in the wind;
Man broke the sun, pulled the wind down.
This flesh you break, this blood you let
Make desolation in the vein,
Were oat and grape
Born of the sensual root and sap;
My wine you drink, my bread you snap.
But the heat has been appalling, and there's no way I won't complain about that. This is the third night in a row with the air conditioner running, and I've been sleeping so much and failing to sleep so much that I feel I might now be permanently logy. Still, I've also cooked a dinner two nights in a row and eaten too much, so the catastrophe is pretty much my own doing. I guess it always has been, but I'm inattentive and failed to notice all those years gone. Or how many days each day was or wasn't.
I think it's time to make dinner again, or go to sleep, but I suppose I'll figure it out. Three more very hot days with very warm nights, then a few merely hot days with merely balmy nights. After that more triple digit highs and sweltery lows for July to bully us. Not my favorite time of year. Can't I just skip summer and go straight to October? No? Well then time is the dick I always suspected it to be. The dick that Hickory dickory dock warned us about. Why didn't we pay heed?
Sunday Verse
This Bread I Break
by Dylan Thomas
This bread I break was once the oat,
This wine upon a foreign tree
Plunged in its fruit;
Man in the day or wind at night
Laid the crops low, broke the grape's joy.
Once in this wine the summer blood
Knocked in the flesh that decked the vine,
Once in this bread
The oat was merry in the wind;
Man broke the sun, pulled the wind down.
This flesh you break, this blood you let
Make desolation in the vein,
Were oat and grape
Born of the sensual root and sap;
My wine you drink, my bread you snap.
