The last Monday before Spring Break.
I have a few papers on the horizon, but my will to do them has shriveled up and died. I'm also speaking in church next Sunday. So now I'm writing a talk which is kind of like a paper, but for God.
My phone charger is MIA. That means my phone is in an induced coma at the moment. There is only enough juice for an emergency-- maybe. I like the freedom, sort of, except I have to do my visiting teaching and getting that set up without a phone is rather difficult. I am a master at alternate forms of communication (AKA the world wide web), but still. That feels very unprofessional.
I said my productivity level was zero, but that isn't quite true. I've been writing some really great poetry. It is different than what I've written before, and I don't know where it comes from. Then again, I don't know where poetry ever comes from. You want to read some of it? Okay. Here's an excerpt.
After a thousand tired stabs
We finally sliced into the heaving ochre sky
Into the breast of the unknown
Our breath abandoned on the soil
We gave the clouds their first sliver
From the trees of the earth
And, later, the ore of the earth
Which became the blood of the sky
Understand that it's only an excerpt because the rest of the poem isn't written yet. Thank you for putting up with this extremely random post.