Spinning my wheels like a crazy person. I run around, at a hundred miles an hour, trying to get my work done, do my HorseBack UK job, plan for a trip away with the mare, keep the domestic situation under some kind of control (hollow laugh), and get in touch with the rat-catcher, since Stanley the Dog, despite digging entire tunnels and racing round every corner of the feed shed like a man with a mission, has lost control of the Rat Situation. I am trying not to see the rats as a metaphor, but they weigh on my spirit.
I want to write you something good and true about life and the human condition and the whole damn thing, but there are no words there. Out in the world, the news has taken on a desperate and apocalyptic aspect, as terrifying natural disasters strike and Baltimore goes up in flames. Everyone has something to say about that, but I find it is where words fail. Words are my touchstones, the things in which I believe the most, but they grow shadowy and paltry in the face of such despair. The world makes no sense, so all one can do is one’s best, putting one foot in front of the other. There are no good or wise or consoling things to say.
I think of the forty things I have to do and try to do them. In my harried ears, I hear the faint screech of the spinning wheels. Concentrate, I say to myself; take your iron tonic; keep buggering on.
In the midst of all this, there is this person, the one note of sanity in a discordant symphony:
I’m afraid the blog is going to be rotten this week. Bear with me, Dear Readers. I’ll be back on an even keel after the weekend.
Oh, and thank you all for the very kind response to the AP posts. They came here, and on Twitter and on Facebook. I was rather overwhelmed, and very touched. I always feel flayed when I write about something which comes so from the heart, so your generous words are amazingly soothing.