My offerings in this journal have been spare of late, at least it seems that way to me. Funny–I just read this in the opening editorial of a recent issue of The Week, penned by editor-in-chief William Falk: “a shifting combination of anger, hopelessness, and ‘numbness’ has set in, as bland, featureless days meld into one another and losses mount.” While I’m not sure I’ve been touched by all those extremes–wait, I have. Anyway, I think it’s affecting my “correspondence.”
That much griped-about Zoom class (prior to its having begun, that is) has turned into a daily delight and refuge. Much of my recent activities have been connected to a sudden loss–yesterday that would have been a very high percentage of them–and the intelligence, curiosity, humor, and diligence of these young women have left me wishing I was teaching 90-minute instead of 60-minute classes, and forgetting that loss temporarily. They’re hungry writers very desirous of improvement, and their first final drafts show that.
I’m not feeling that my life has been diminished by the absence from it of sports. I get my daily baseball, basketball, and hockey “Stathead” e-mails, which are necessarily about past accomplishments, and that slaked my thirst. I got stuck with StubHub credit from a cancelled NBA game, so that helps me not to yearn.
We spent a total of at least five hours trying to get our health provider to submit a recent doctor visit and procedure claim to the correct insurance company. We talked to at least eight people and five departments, but–knock hard on wood–the battle appears to have been won.
Beautiful night, beautiful morning. More of those, please.
Streaming for Strivers:
This one’s place in the hip hop pantheon is frequently ignored. Ease back!