Inbetweenland.

Virgo:: “On an average weekday,” wrote Saul Bellow, “the New York Times contains more information than any contemporary of Shakespeare’s would have acquired in a lifetime.” But religious writer F. Forrester Church adds a caveat to that imposing thought. In his book Lifecraft: The Art of Meaning in the Everyday, he writes, “The Times is a fine paper. But for all its information, it only hints, and then only occasionally, at what Shakespeare knew so well: that the beauty of the bird, the symbol of the snake, the courage of the pilot, and the wonder of human love will always be touched with mystery.” In accordance with your current omens, Virgo, I urge you to abstain from the New York Times’ specialty and seek out Shakespeare-style soul food for thought. Love enigmas more than certainties.

I've not been terribly interesting of late, to be quite honest. I've been doing a lot of thinking about the various directions I'm going and would like to go, but those thoughts still need to incubate awhile longer before I start sorting them out with words. Saying things out loud tends to make real what ought not to be. You could say I've been playing things close to the vest lately, contemplating my cards.

Mostly, I'm just ready for this gray weather to pass. It's been overcast for about a week now, and it looks like the next time we get sunshine is on Tuesday. I like rain, but not this constant pall-- so in-between. It's draining. I feel like I'm waiting for something, and what that is, I don't know. Veris leta facies, let's get on with it.



I did have a good dinner/ANTM-fest with Agnes last night. I did some work and I fell asleep in a yoga posture. Oops. I also got a beautiful bouquet of blooming purple orchids delivered to work. From Tex, of course, but it set the office abuzz. And tonight... margaritas with coworkers, a brief meeting, and then work. I picked up a bunch of sterling wire yesterday, so I'm restocked. Nothing to see here, move along. These are not the droids you're looking for.