Monday, October 1


I welcome October with arms aching because they're so outstretched. With the yearning of an upside down umbrella. The smile of an open manhole. The one-two punch of August and September now hopefully over, and so today: errands (drop off letter at Chancellor's office, look for lost library book), acads (start with Gemino paper, revise Charlson story, think of topic for Tope paper), love life (re-watch/blog about Hable Con Ella, download prescribed films, think about him), work (say yes to a raket in Cagayan de Oro next week, transcribe two interviews, write one press release), writing (send Charlson story, plus one more, to bunch of magazines), and self (think about point of everything, text random people about how writing and literature no longer, at this point, bring happiness).

Lately have questioned soundness of long-running thesis re: Awful Months (arbitrary, illogical, convenient), but how do you knock it when the first day of October brought such astounding bounty, in producitivity and prospects alike. (Of course, can be self-fulfilling prophecy, and Mobius strip-type tautology is useless argument). That said, kind of relish the celebratory mood October brings, if only to pick self up from proverbial rubble in the aftermath of August and September. Someday might find real reason for the invisible weight, i.e, other than retrogrades and ghost months. And if it really is bogus, what of it? We all tell ourselves such lies to survive. In this light, have obviously lost ability to be straightforward. Yey.

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