Tuesday, January 31, 2017

January 31, 2017

This morning over the gym parking lot flamingo vapor trails crossed a dark turquoise sky. Past days have been jumbled. I look on the page and see I have not journaled, though away from the page I thought I had.  Excellent day in the studio. Bubbling happy boys visit me before class. Excellent class days. Monday it was Dryden, me thinking I was one of a handful of academics in America who give a whole day to Dryden. The obbligato under all, though, is the political catastrophe America suffers even as I write. It never crossed my mind that there would be a time when my deepest hurt was not personal, but rather public. It never crossed my mind that I would see  a time when the Free World would be leaderless, when the institutions of the greatest nation on earth would be threatened by a self-delighted and probably insane tyrant. When do the checks and balances kick in? When do the Republicans fade away out of pure shame, and never raise their heads again? Will the Judicial Branch fold up like a kicked kitten and slink away? When does Conservatism admit it is not Conservatism but envy and resentment and greedy malice, not here and there, but everywhere it raises its head?  It is not often that the political battle is between good and evil rather than something far grayer and less certain, but one of those times is now. I am waiting for someone to tell me what to do. I am waiting for the battle to come within reach.

This has been a good day. Even my patriotic rage has something fine in it.

Some shit bitch found the passages from my studio journal about J and copied them out and sent them to him, anonymously. It never crosses my mind that anyone who reads my blog will know me or anyone I’m talking about, and when they do it always turns to mischief. But, I wrote nothing that wasn’t felt, and the upshot is that J and I are back in communication. Some people love hurt and mischief, and stumble over themselves initiating it. I do pray for vengeance against my enemies sometimes, expecting God to know when to turn a deaf ear.

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