Thursday Tune: Revolution

Because I am fed up with the war against women and this sort of thing, this is my mood.

Text as Art Tonight

The opening of the Text as Art gallery show with my piece "The Square Root of I is I" will be tonight at the Arts Center at 7pm. I will likely read from "Wixey," the story that initially inspired the project (unless I change my mind).

Add to the long list of things I will not be doing: spending next year in Galway, seeing Alan Moore's Dodgem Logic show at the London Word Festival, seeing Derek Jacobi in King Lear. Sob! On the other hand, I leave for Rome on Wednesday, so that will cheer me. But I am bitterly disappointed about Ireland. It was a terrific position and a really interesting group of scholars. Plus I badly need a break, but there's another year before I can even apply for a sabbatical. If you see any interesting fellowships that would spring me for a few weeks or a semester, be sure to pass them along.

Worse, the envelope was put in the wrong mailbox. I noticed the logo in the corner and took a peek: after all, it was entirely possible someone else was also applying for a Fulbright. But no, it was for me and as soon as I saw that it was, I knew the envelope meant bad news. Ah, well. A blow, but it could be worse, eh? At least I've still got my head. So, start humming along, "Pick yourself up, dust yourself off, start all over again."

It's not until things are broken...

...that you realise what they mean to you. The wonky window just blew out and smashed off one ear and one foot of my wombat.

I could blame the landlord for never getting around to fixing the wonky window.

I can blame myself for putting the wombat there on the window sill next to Ganesha (who, being more wise, escaped harm). All things considered, it was a stupid place.

I could blame my attachment to material things that the Buddha would tell me is the source of all misery.

I am sweeping up the pieces.