Write every day (for myself) for 15 minutes or more.

one of the most pervese things about myself. Writing, art, redeems life. But I don’t want stupid things to be redeemed; I want them corrected, or avenged. What good is writing for that? If I make lemonade aren’t I endorsing and enabling the sourness of lemons? LOL So instead of writing I berate myself for not being “out there” doing “something” about “it.” Well, I do things, small things. I’m not too skilled at being “out there.” And there is no activism in the world that can correct human arrogance, ignorance and foolishness. My, I’m in a righteous mood today…hope no one is writing about me! LOL ;P

Just fifteen hours ago I was basking in the warmth of the golden hour before sunset, imagining countless (or at least a week) more chances to float in Indian summer heat (is it now un-PC to say “Indian summer”?). But this morning dawns cloaked and persists damped with a disorienting slough of undifferentiated white smoggy fog, which would seem exciting & even romantic had I inexplicably woken up in the hills of northern California, but since I’m in the same old place instead it makes me contemplate the way some cultures choose white to represent death.

with a tutoring student for 20 minutes. First journal writing in a while…it was nice, even if it was self-censored because I was going to read it to her.