The week is winding down. How can I be glad of that? Every day that passes brings me closer to the end – and I’m not going to kid myself into thinking there is no end, that death is a new beginning. I feel an urgency, yet there seems to be nothing for it. I drag myself through the days, these last couple of weeks, buffeted by circumstances and everything that’s going on around me, yet I’m not the creator of it.
Meanwhile, I haven’t written a stitch. I just buy groceries, cook meals, clean up, talk to contractors, get plagued by noise.
Today’s sky: those flayed, stripey cirrus clouds, white on a light blue background. Possible thunderstorms and / or rain again this afternoon. The workers are doing something loud below me, outside (maybe disposing of cut-up waste wood?), the trucks on E.-St. are ka-thumping and loud. The trees in front of my window are taller again. I think I hate them.