The winter solstice was 12:22 a.m. GST – this morning.
It didn't feel like the shortest day. I'm sleeping too much the past several weeks, because I've been careless about my thyroid medicine (as well as missing not one but two antiretroviral doses when I went to Liverpool, which, in AIDS medicines is really going over into the 'unacceptable' zone). But I started the day by receiving an e-mail from a colleague in Africa, which could possibly lead to some really interesting work and fast-lane activities; then an early meeting to discuss my possible bid for promotion – I may not be allowed to apply this year, but if I'm not I understand the reasons; a general meeting that was fairly rational and pleasant; and a committee lunch that was, if not exciting, at least quite civilized.
Then the Two Davids came over, we sat around, they cooked dinner, I put up the Xmas tree. Very nice and homey.
So the threat of the shortest day – the dismal dark, the hopelessness, the vain waiting for the return of the sun – wasn't part of that day at all: I'm feeling fairly calm, in charge, lately, able to do what is necessary to get through work, and not too oppressed by the mechanisms and personalities of the university world. Indeed, I've had almost no ideas, no urgent communications to make through this blog: which is slightly embarrassing, as the blog demands a bit of care, of course.
I did want to do what I've done before: pull out old poems or stories and post them – but that raises a specific problem: many of my poems and stories are pretty damned depressing. Since many of them came from particularly dark times, they are themselves pretty grim – they just didn't feel appropriate at the moment.
What's that you say – why don't I write a new poem? Yeah, well, good point. It often feels as though the basic techniques, the balance of abilities, that it took me to generate even a fair poem in the early 1990s simply aren't in my head any more – too long since I thought about it, since I tried it. I think it's a bit like singing: if you spend a period of time (months, or years) pushing your voice into its lower range, or working hard at high notes, other parts of your voice weaken, suffer – if you're doing a lot of serious bass work your baritone high Gs tend to vanish. In the same way, I think, my exclusive focus on academic writing (even the overblown kind that I indulge myself in) has meant that my ability to crank out journalism, or poetry, or tell stories, has suffered....
Maybe I need to practice.
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