Late night writing

Fortunately, my father is a patient man* as regards my blogging, or in this case not blogging, habits.

Meanwhile, I’m temporally challenged at the moment, and not just in terms of blogging. I’ve been convinced since noon today, which is now yesterday, that tomorrow, which is now today, is Friday, which it is not yet, even if you live in Australia.  This wouldn’t be such a problem if it were any other days of the work week that I was confused about. However, if it was Friday it would mean I would be playing pipes in Much Ado About Nothing, then working most of the day, then speeding around like mad packing for my travels and checking out my residents’ rooms, then going to a party. Whereas for Thursday I’m merely supposed to go to class, work on proofs O_o and play bagpipes. As you can see, getting them mixed up in this case could be rather humiliating. I think I just desperately want it to be Friday, or even better, Sunday, and this is my unconscious way of trying to get there faster. And no, it’s not all due to yesterday being a leap day.

I can never decide how to approach time. Fortunately, it doesn’t give a damn. I like to imagine that if time had a physical human form it would be a rather chubby gentleman/lady who laughs A LOT. How could you not laugh if you were Time? Constantly surprising people and seeing their faces when they wake up one morning. I guess Time wouldn’t make many close friends because if you’re time it would just hurt too much after a while.  Either way, talk about interesting people to have over for dinner. But that’s all just hypothetical because I find the idea of Time having a physical form besides existence itself, (or something) hard to believe.

Also, here's a nice song by Tegan and Sara which many have probably heard before.

* But not when he was trying to teach me math… Still, for that I cannot blame anyone but myself. I believe I made ‘glassy-eyed’ into an art form. Sadly, I haven’t changed much where math is concerned, as I fear one of my professors will be discovering tomorrow. At least now though, I try. (Sorry, dad).  

can't be spring

For two days now I have thought that I heard a Red-Wing Blackbird. It's early for that, but not impossible. Try as I might, however, I have yet to confirm a sighting. Today when I thought I heard the call, I was midway between the woodpile and the house with an armfull of wood. I took it on inside, and grabbed some binoculars. Once back out in the yard, I followed a black silhouette of a bird from the top of one tree to another. There was the call again, except that it wasn't quite right. It was kind of wimpy and strangulated. I've heard Bluejays imitate hawks in order to scare other birds away from the feeder. So I wondered; was this just a wily faker tossing off a bad approximation of my favorite harbinger of Spring? Or perhaps just wishful thinking on my part? I watched the candidate bird through the binoculars for the longest time, messing with the focus and trying desperately to steady my hands enough to catch a ruffle of feathers that would expose the white and red epaulettes. He was just at the furthest range of effectiveness for my glasses. That much I might have seen, but not much more. He wouldn't fly, he wouldn't flash, and he wouldn't call.

Well, this is February, isn't it? In the turning of the year, it's really the middle of nowhere, the middle of nowhen. Gardeners are perhaps planting their alliums. My goats are looking large and pregnant. Trouble is definitely brewing, but there's still a lot of winter to hack through. It might even snow -- not that I'm hoping it will. Some people loath this month. I don't mind it so much, because I always notice how much warmer the sun has become if you can stand out of the wind. And I think, okay,  it's going to be all right. It's definitely warming up again. The days are longer, the stars are different. If you stay up late enough and ignore the cold, it can look like a summer evening out there in the sky.

Besides, time goes by so fast. Last year went quickly; this year is even more headlong. And here I am, running pell-mell down the slippery slope of February in oversized boots, looking back behind me and heading for a tree. Just wait, now -- oh, yeah. Just wait for March.