How Sad a Passage

COUNTESS "This young gentlewoman had a father,--O, that 'had'! how sad a passage 'tis!--whose skill was almost as great as his honesty; had it stretched so far, would have made nature immortal, and death should have play for lack of work." -Act I scene i, All's Well that Ends Well.

Tuesday, February 12, 2013

Said Oh Lord Jesus, it's a Fire

Sleepless nights and lazy mornings.  The search for that willingness to strike out into a routine of some merit, to find the discipline to chart new courses here, whether for the career and otherwise.  And thus far, nothing.  The freedom of the car conspiring to allow merely for easy access to the variety of unhealthy fast food and cheap literature options.  The freedom of the condo offering a spot wherein to bring the unsuspecting for clumsy, unknown purposes.  Will the freedom of the boat provide something more?

That text did come, and combined with a storm conspired to keep me in town for coffee Saturday past.  Antartica, of all stories as well, to keep me captivated, despite the ring in its shocking casualness.  And so you lay in wait again for the next round of response, in planning a truly ridiculous 14th.  It's not impossible, is it Rylance?  Stay tuned for updates, on all fronts I suppose.

Nostalgic tonight.  Casting back to similar February times in years gone by...  funny if not surprising to see London prominently intertwined in the imaginings.  It seems a particular time of year that the mind and body tends to drift away.  Just under a year since Achill (Did I write nothing anywhere about that momentous reckoning?)  Before that Cyprus and Barca and Morocco.  In 2010, conversations via Skype with KBJ and consideration of 555 days that have now long since come and gone.  Yucatan prior to the great escape in 2009, and celebrating the G-Men in 2008 with dreams of the Inka Trail still on the horizon.  Again just about in merry England in 2007, that last great Oxford homecoming and first taste of the Blarney...

So much time, and so much variety, and still insatiable.  Still here, at this same window staring into the same darkness, needing to mark down the hours of time spent on mundane items to fuel the wandering.  It is relentless - the longing, the yearning to see and be on the move.  C'mon Arsenal.  Give me the extra excuse for April.  And let the rest fall as it will, yeah?

 

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