I couldn't choose one thought, one photo, for the day, so I didn't. It was sunny, and too hot. Warren bought me tea in bed while I wrote a List of Things for the year. 365 blog posts, 6 paintings, one novel, a part-time course in digital photography. Renovated ensuite, extended wardrobe, upgraded living room. Replanted gardens. Some crochet.
You won't have time for all that, he said, which is true. It's always true.
We ate quince paste and camembert on crackers for afternoon tea because I felt like something new, even though it was really too expensive, even though I wasn't sure we would like quince paste.
We like quince paste.
A phone call in the evening leaves us feeling sad. We can go against what we think is right, or we can come out looking like we are against people we are not. Things don't always work out well. I read an article that helps, an article lamenting the obsession our culture has with the happy ending:
It’s ironic that in a culture swimming with inane, pep-talk nostrums about the triumph of the human spirit and the importance of following your dreams, we have such a hard time seeing what’s affirmative about the best tragedies. They show us that a great spirit is still great even when it doesn’t win, that aspiration, courage and hope, however doomed, are virtues in their own right.
I don't know how to whittle down that List of Things. I decide to go to bed and make it a problem for my future self.
