The Feast of Epiphany, the last of the twelve days of Christmas. The day when it all ends.
Today the tree came down... the small handmade ornaments (some by family, some from China and Germany when I was there, some discovered in various places) went into plastic bags, the whole holiday into a fairly small but closely packed box. The tree is in good shape – it's alive and potted (!) – put it out back and drenched it; I think this year it will last, it looks pretty healthy.
Woke up very early again, did useful things again, didn't sleep all day again. Very interesting, very unusual for me – perhaps the change in medication from, what, two months ago, is having a large effect on my energy, and reducing my physical and mental depression. That would be very nice indeed – I've been taking Kaletra in its original formula for five years; maybe the new formulation, which is supposedly making everybody happier (most patients haven't been taking it as long as I have, which may be why it took me a while to notice a difference) is going to give me some of that confident, take-charge energy I used to have, in the 1980s, in the mid-1990s, when I wrote so much and did so many things.
That would be great. What to do with such energy... well – I guess I should promise not to waste it – for instance – on being angry or frustrated. (Yeah, yeah, I know: see yesterday's post.)
Was in fact a bit of a Dutch housewife today – much cleaned and dispatched and fixed, ruthlessly and energetically plowing through things. In fact, when I took the tree outside, I took my work gloves and – you'll think I'm really over the top – sneaked into three neighbor yards to clean up trash. Ah, the delights of being obsessive. Anyway, they weren't going to get around to it, not in midwinter at least; and everything looks a hell of a lot better from all my windows.
Here's something else you can make fun of me about: it was in the middle of the afternoon, while clothes washed and the computer ran diagnostics and the iPod played Clannad (as I said yesterday, when they were Irish, not after they turned inanely new-agey – and I say that as someone who likes some new age music; but their desperation to imitate their long-lost sister Enya led them down some very tacky musical paths). An especially good tune, something really lively and – I snapped up into a relevé, did a half turn. Ridiculous, you say: a fifty-year-old academic, dancing in his living room. Well, nobody was around to see; what was remarkable was that the energy just came through me, almost pushed me into it, without effort – as it used to, years ago.
So maybe things are changing; maybe there are surprising things to be realized.
Uh, well, so... when did you last dance around your living room?...
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