Journal of a Sabbatical

February 13, 2001

february fever

Today's Reading: In Audubon's Labrador by Charles Wendell Townsend

Today's Starting Pitcher: The equipment van has left Fenway Park for Ft. Myers.

The dumpster might as well be located on Mt. Chomolungma (Mt. Everest). With all the melting and the sudden refreezing, I need crampons to get to it. At least if it was on Chomolungma I could make an IMAX film out of taking my trash out. As it is, the trash bags are piled up next to my back steps since Sunday, waiting for today's thaw so I don't slip and break my ass. Except that today I do not feel like doing anything.

The air feels light and soporific. I have that "I can't possibly work" feeling that I usually identify as spring fever. Guess it's February fever. Or a new mutation of the endless malaise that has afflicted me all winter. But spring is just around the corner. Now if I could just figure out which corner.

When I wasn't whining to my therapist about how I can't get anything done, balancing my checkbook (on which I've procrastinated shamelessly), cleaning my desk, drinking coffee with Ned and Sarah, or reading In Audubon's Labrador, I was searching my disks for the perfect picture of Domino to make into an objet d'art to give to Person of Domino when he closes the shop. The above graphic is one of my many experiments.