Jesus' practical question was a relevant one last night:
For who of you by worrying can add a single hour to your life?
I'm so happy we're going to Charlottesville. I'm also so worried about finding a job. Jesus says he feeds ravens and clothes lilies, though. This ought to be enough.
Emily wrote an excellent thesis. I was privileged enough to get to read it last night after I had edited my own and I was so impressed. Clamor for "Backstitch" to be published; it would improve us all greatly.
No Pants April was a great idea, if I may say so.
I have much to do this week. I feel frightened and somehow caged when I consider that I do not have a single free weekend between now and getting married. Things will slow down, won't they? They have to. It is simply inhumane to live at such breakneck speeds. Proulx would denounce it; Woolf would use it as fodder and then call it spiritually destructive. Only McCarthy would laugh.
Somehow this was touching to me on Sunday night, as Kelsey and I drove back to Chapel Hill. I was thinking about the microcosm of Carolina and how I am quietly sad to leave it:
Well, just look around.
It's why I love this town:
just see me serenaded hourly! celebrated sourly!
dedicated dourly; waltzing with the open sea -
clam, crab, cockle, cowrie : will you just look at me?
- "Clam, Crab, Cockle, Cowrie," Joanna Newsom