In the story of Patroclus no one survives, not even Achilles who was nearly a god. I used to say that poem to myself almost every day. I had it out of an anthology, but last year, I realized there was a whole book of poems about the Iliad and read them all on a plane as I flew over the Mediterranean. It's the season for poems that I love and talk and talk about and say quietly to myself in my spare moments. 

Mmm, I have a headache. I mixed too many different types of alcohol last night - local beer with its unfiltered funk, herby Aperol, and the homemade lemoncello, the lingering bitterness of the lemon peel. I want to work in the garden today after the show. I need to call my mom. I should start getting ready for the tarot workshop I'm doing at the library at the end of the month. I haven't taught anything since 2011. (I probably haven't learned anything since then too.) 

I kept thinking there was something else I needed to say here today. Maybe it will still come to me.