spleen

doll-drums

And so, the ho-hum. It's rainy and hot here, and the air is the consistency of hot butter. I'm in the ether constantly, working, chatting, learning, adrift.

Today's work was the drafting of affidavits, mucking through meetings, some lovely programming (objected-oriented polymorphism to handle data sets in different ways), and Saint Nectaire. Saint Nectare is a French cheese that has been made since the eighteenth century, and was the favorite of Louis the such-and-such. Because the packaging says it contains hints of mushrooms and hazelnuts, I taste hints of mushrooms and hazelnuts. I'm an American, after all, and advertising means a great deal to me.

Poems forthcoming, as always. Life and work forever forthcoming, a great wave, something as endless as the building of a Russian cathedral.

Oh, and this: I have not changed in that I continue unendingly towards what I love. But I have changed in that what I love no longer promises to destroy me.