I'm working. And by working I mean I'm browsing through books that I am about to catalog and, oddly enough, starting with the poetry books first. That is just so you have some setting in your mind. For sound, it's quiet.
Yesterday was a day of melancholy — in part due to upcoming partings, scenes changing, wisteria gone, exhaustion and so many new faces. I was actually going to escape into the cavern of a cinema and let the flickering light of entertainment force it's way on me and my mood. But while walking there, I opted not to. I didn't feel well, I was restless. Transition.
So Angie and I gave in to the rainy weather and declared it a day of melancholy. Why fight it? We talked and I complained and listened to all of the small details that can turn a day into sadness and anger and then we did the only thing we could . . . watched Terms of Endearment on her laptop. And it helped. The scene where Shirley McClain is screaming for the nurses to get her daughter pain meds "she just has to make it to 10 and it's after 10!" I lost it. Weeping with the rain and the weather and the reality of it all, but weeping for Aurora.
And now I am here. No day of meloncholy. Maybe contemplation. At last a still moment after a long run down a hill. And of course I'm reading Eliot's Prufrock and I'm habitually amazed how much this poem changes for me with every reading and today I fastened upon . . .
But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:
Would it have been worth while
If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,
And turning toward the window, should say:
"That is not it at all,
That is not what I meant, at all"