Writing this post in the morning means a certain mindset prevails. Quality and length of sleep and dreams, urgency of matters out there in the “real life”, overall condition of befuddlement or clear-headedness have direct consequences on the morning mood.
This morning, “real life” means stumbling out of bed and into clothes, walking the dog, pouring coffee down my throat, dashing to Albi and back, finding my way to the bank before an afternoon of coaching kids in their ABCs and 2 X 8. After which I’ll get to collapse, maybe, and pay attention to fictional lives as in reading and revision. Tomorrow is a statutory holiday but tomorrow is another day, far, far away.
The good news on a personal level: I can recover some of the money I’ve spent on other people and thus make it through the month of May without my small-town, small “real-life” descent into baseline survival of the begging for help variety. Orders given to the dog during the walk? No further illness allowed. (Orders provide the illusion of some control over “real life”.)
Of course, I should have gone straight to bed after the meetings last night but after counting and re-counting the money collected in two fund raisers, I dipped back into Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night. Almost weighing every single word in the text, at this point. After which weighing every single word in my less-than Shakespearean writing becomes a mandatory exercise.
Real-life stuff that keeps the going interesting: two of the boys received a standing ovation when they walked into class yesterday. I’d informed their teacher of the positive court decision. Many of the other boys in their class are embroiled in the same kind of legal strangle holds. Good news for some meant good hope for many.
* title of this post: the first lines in a song done by Cajun artist Zachary Richard. Translation: Working’s too hard and stealing’s not nice. The song goes on to say: begging for charity’s something I don’t know how to do, I live off love and hope to live on for a long time.