Watching a Jazz game, which I almost never do deliberately because now, like so many pleasurable things, it stresses me out unless the conditions are just right. Triple overtime. The Mavs. The Jazz are playing with skill and joy and, it must be said, a little bit erratically, because they are the Jazz at this moment in their history. But they're up by 5 with 1:08. Jason Terry is ridiculous.
I finished a truly epic bout of Big Responding in my composition classes. In the history of responding ordeals, this is one of the most ordealiest. But I have prevailed over it. I feel the better for it.
As I drove to work this morning, I found myself listening in, as it were, on my own inner discussion with myself. I found that I was happy.
Soon I will be talking to students only about small scale revisions. And poetry. Soon I will be accepting the final version of their work. Soon I will be finishing this and moving on to that.
There is a full-on riot of tulips in my front yard.
I have loved writing the couplets for this month's gesture at poetry every day. It has felt increasingly like a meditation.
And the Jazz--on this beautiful Monday, the Jazz win it.
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