Temps perdu (Day 308/365)

I may as well confess it, since Marc will blow my cover if I don’t: this post was written tomorrow.

The problem with the Land of the Pan-Dimensional Mice is that time is a mouse:

The Mouse Whose
Name Is Time

The Mouse whose name is Time
Is out of sound and sight.
He nibbles at the day
And nibbles at the night.

He nibbles at the summer
Till all of it is gone.
He nibbles at the seashore.
He nibbles at the moon.

Yet no man not a seer,
No woman not a sibyl
Can ever ever hear
Or see him nibble, nibble.

And whence or how he comes
And how or where he goes
Nobody dead remembers,
Nobody living knows.
–Robert Francis

And so today/yesterday passed with nothing creative from me. The Time Mouse ate it all up.

My great fear, and I knew this when I started this project last August 1, is that the rest of my days will be nibbled by the Time Mouse here at GHP. It’s entirely possible. I know for a fact that I will not, cannot, get anything done before next Thursday. It will be the first day of minors here, which outside the Land of Pan-Dimensional Mice means “I will have 1:30-4:00 free.” It is realistically the only time I have to work on anything of my own: dawn to 1:30 is spent supervising the instruction here, plus lunch; 4:00-5:30, I usually am meeting with staff about the morning; 5:30-9:30, supper plus whatever evening activity is on; and 9:30-11:00, mopping up the day’s damage.

So I freely admit that today was a total miss. Or yesterday, depending on when you believe I wrote this.

Could have been worse, of course. I considered channeling Francis Urquhart and writing, “I was creative today in ways I cannot possibly talk about.”

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