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No shock here
Dec. 22nd, 2008 05:01 pmOne again promised, once again won't.
Go to ceilidh.
[OK, will post this now, while I finish up at work, and flesh out as I go.]
A wise woman, albeit a batty one, once said (last night in fact), to take care of myself and not to push it or stress.
She knows me well. She's heard me promise ardently to attend functions like this, only to pass..again and again and again.
No, more importantly, she's heard me stress and push myself to attend events based on "oughts", and a sense of obligation to a friendly invitation.
A PSA at this point: all this post needs is a simple, "Not going", and perhaps an expression of social regret (NO, not an apology). But I really feel like writing. I had a weekend full of people, and regret that it is over too swiftly. The pace of Dickens Fair made social life run too quickly: if Victorian London can be pulled from the past, there must be a way to manipulate that time to run much slower. People pass by much too quickly. And there was even less time to save it all or any on paper. [/psa]
I truly want to attend ceilidh--I love the sound of Irish music (what little I hear0, I love watching musicians snap and slip the notes out of their instruments. More than all, I love watching my friends dance for the sheer joy of it. And it's been two years at least since I've done so. But
....[and now stop with this much, while I finish up my work and close out my desk. More at home. I'm afraid this is how I have to write nowadays, whether diaries, essays or poems. Little modules. 5:21pm, and I have to close up to catch the train.]
But...and here it is 10pm. "But" means: It came to be that I have an appointment tomorrow evening that I would like very much to keep, and I realized that the promise of driving half asleep in the cold to Alameda after 4 hours of sleep and a 12 hour day, dance, then drive back at 11pm to arrive at home hopefully at midnight so that I can bathe, be in bed by 1pm, to get up at 5am to catch the train for another 12 hour---and then hope I look fresh and sparkling by Tuesday evening would not yield as much as any of us would one would hope.
"But"...also means I've not had much quiet and slow time. It's been just a week since school ended, and 2 weeks since I finished my paper. Winter quarter funding has well begun, and fall reconciliation at the same time. We have a new department head, and one of our staff was laid off--we will see what the New Year brings. I've just signed up for a class, and will now drop it for another that I can afford.
I wanted to dance, and needed to see you all--but I need some Slow and Quiet after this week. All I want in the upcoming holidya time is a chance to throw out everything old and cluttering, and perhaps read just one book. And play with crayons and yarn.
**************
Tonight, instead of dance, I came home to pack up some trash, fall asleep in the bathtub, and watch one hour of I, Claudius while playing with yarn.
Now to bed. While visions of Captain Picard and Magenta dance in my head.
Go to ceilidh.
[OK, will post this now, while I finish up at work, and flesh out as I go.]
A wise woman, albeit a batty one, once said (last night in fact), to take care of myself and not to push it or stress.
She knows me well. She's heard me promise ardently to attend functions like this, only to pass..again and again and again.
No, more importantly, she's heard me stress and push myself to attend events based on "oughts", and a sense of obligation to a friendly invitation.
A PSA at this point: all this post needs is a simple, "Not going", and perhaps an expression of social regret (NO, not an apology). But I really feel like writing. I had a weekend full of people, and regret that it is over too swiftly. The pace of Dickens Fair made social life run too quickly: if Victorian London can be pulled from the past, there must be a way to manipulate that time to run much slower. People pass by much too quickly. And there was even less time to save it all or any on paper. [/psa]
I truly want to attend ceilidh--I love the sound of Irish music (what little I hear0, I love watching musicians snap and slip the notes out of their instruments. More than all, I love watching my friends dance for the sheer joy of it. And it's been two years at least since I've done so. But
....[and now stop with this much, while I finish up my work and close out my desk. More at home. I'm afraid this is how I have to write nowadays, whether diaries, essays or poems. Little modules. 5:21pm, and I have to close up to catch the train.]
But...and here it is 10pm. "But" means: It came to be that I have an appointment tomorrow evening that I would like very much to keep, and I realized that the promise of driving half asleep in the cold to Alameda after 4 hours of sleep and a 12 hour day, dance, then drive back at 11pm to arrive at home hopefully at midnight so that I can bathe, be in bed by 1pm, to get up at 5am to catch the train for another 12 hour---and then hope I look fresh and sparkling by Tuesday evening would not yield as much as any of us would one would hope.
"But"...also means I've not had much quiet and slow time. It's been just a week since school ended, and 2 weeks since I finished my paper. Winter quarter funding has well begun, and fall reconciliation at the same time. We have a new department head, and one of our staff was laid off--we will see what the New Year brings. I've just signed up for a class, and will now drop it for another that I can afford.
I wanted to dance, and needed to see you all--but I need some Slow and Quiet after this week. All I want in the upcoming holidya time is a chance to throw out everything old and cluttering, and perhaps read just one book. And play with crayons and yarn.
**************
Tonight, instead of dance, I came home to pack up some trash, fall asleep in the bathtub, and watch one hour of I, Claudius while playing with yarn.
Now to bed. While visions of Captain Picard and Magenta dance in my head.
