I’ve been valiantly trying to keep up with the reading for my classes and I am overwhelmed. Getting up every morning before dawn and reading the days assignment is taking its toll on my body. My eyes sag, my sight is getting worse and worse (it is time to break down and buy those bifocals), my muscles ache, my teeth hurt and forget any mental focus in meetings after 4PM. I feel like a triathalete at the end of a particularly grueling race, reaching deep inside for a bit more grit to try and keep the competition at bay. That competition is, in my enfeebled state, the barbarian at the gate, the Mongol Hordes at the wall, the police at the door of my personal loophole of retreat. It all becomes a bit hazy when I spend so much time focusing on the reading for my classes early each morning. Waking at 4AM becomes akin to Olympic weightlifting (“grunt,” “heave,” he’s out of bed! And the crowd goes WILD).
My mind, however, floats. I’m up and I get to dedicate some special time to living in the world of the texts. It is a blessing and a joy to be able to retire to my “task” and put the world at abeyance as I contemplate the worlds of books. My life is a series of precious luxuries that no-one ever appreciates except me. It is like flossing platinum and diamonds in the ghetto that no-one can see. I have a wealth that shines and blings in a spectrum above and beyond the frequency that others can understand. I have a literary dog-whistle, that only the chosen few can hear. And how I love to blow that penny-whistle. How rich is my life that I can, I must, I have to, read for a couple of hours every day.