Long, mixed-up, sad, cold, exhausting day, punctuated with forlorn sneezes from the office dog, Snowball, who has terrible allergies. I spent three hours mucking with a graphic. The shape of the mountains made me cry. This week will get worse before it gets better.
I think I need to snap out of whatever this is and do something productive. I'd really like to write something real again; I did so much good research this winter when I had my head together. I want to write a poem about Okeus and how he was grim and evil and appeared to almost every Powhatan as a young, handsome warrior in the woods--which is a convenient form for a god to a warrior people who go about in the woods. I want to write one about throwing beads into the James to pacify him as they'd canoe past his alter. I want to write about this giant quartz crystal divining stone they had at the temple at Uttamakin that was said to be so clear, you could see a man's face through it and that they buried there when they had to flee. Those are the poem I'd write if not for the problem, the problem being probably mainly that I'm tired and listening to sad music.
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