"The moment was stabilized, stamped like a coin indelibly among a million that slipped by imperceptibly." -- Woolf, "Street Haunting"
It's been an exhausting week, in almost every way it could possibly be exhausting; days of upheaval, I told Emily. I am very tired. But hopeful. Hopeful for that moment when God lets your life work out. I think it's coming, somewhere down the road.
This week I've been trying to wake up earlier than I need to. Even though I hate it, I have to admit that I am enormously productive in the morning. If I wake up at 9, I feel like my whole day is shot and I just sit here at my desk, looking at other people's Flickr photos and dreaming about dogs. But if I get up at 7:30--there are endless possibilities for accomplishment. Yoga, prayer, breakfast, shower, reading, writing. All of those little things that need to be done at some point during the day. They just unfold better in the morning. I like it. The first flush of consciousness when you wake early. The promise of a blank morning.
He who goes out weeping, carrying seed to sow, will return with songs of joy, carrying sheaves with him. (Psalm 126:6)
Rachel wrote a beautiful post about healing and community; "Thaw."
Nat King Cole is singing "The Christmas Song" right now and for some reason I am disinclined to turn him off or switch to another song.
Walking to class in the rain has to be one of the worst things ever. But at least I have my Women of Literature umbrella with the wooden handle. ("The ugly women umbrella," my dad calls it. Hey. No one ever said genius was pretty.)