a profound weariness has set in, maybe because this morning, when i got to work, it was already ninety, steamy, not even nine o'clock. maybe because, i've just been worrying myself down to the bone, family worries, people not well, and it has me to the point where i don't even want to go out in the steam and throw a ball around. maybe because i've been unable to write, unable to play music, unable to do just about anything, even the haiku has dried up, slowed down to a trickle. i'm thinking, maybe it's time to get back into the novel, an entire fantasy world that i can intensely put myself into at night, get away from it all, but instead, this blog is the closest i can get. today i wrote two midterms, then gave them; giving them is easy, you watch the students, or, if you trust them for a minute, grade the stuff they already did. toward the end, i gave out, too tired; it's been a long week of 3-hr classes and they wear it also, this profound sense of weariness; they aren't even into the world cup. just want to study english, pass, get out of there.

in my case, i sometimes think, surely there is another place i would rather be, but it doesn't come to me; i'm actually good at making exercises, writing my own stuff, and i enjoy that too and would even like to collect it and put it all together in one little book, but like everything else it's scattered around in various drawers and in piles around the place. sometimes i just write stuff, and exercises to go with it too; this at least is some creativity, and it keeps me awake; they like it, and i can tailor it to their needs which i know pretty well.

my music partner is in kerrville, though we have a gig later in the month; i went through a spell without a bow, and now want to fix up my second fiddle, and the piano, and the cello, as a bulwark against the future. lack of music is scraping away at my soul, like poison oak is chewing on my feet; i've got to do something about it. i have managed, however, to pull together a play of some sort; this will be performed this sun. (see above) by kids who, as my wife says, mostly want to humor me. it is a scene however; it will, at least, be there in time and space, a real live play, performed, in carbondale, as a semi-regular event, one in a long line. and finally, there's a touch of graphic arts happening; i made the poster for the play (not such a good job) but, as warm up for t-shirts which i will make for a family reunion. graphic arts also soothes my soul, much like cortizone or whatever it is i just put on my feet; it allows me to play with shapes, and patterns, and color, and frame reality, make a statement. the vast majority of my graphic arts, at this moment, is on a disk, in my office, waiting for me to put somewhere, to rearrange, reorder, set up in some other spot. once again, my isolation from it wears on me, like i have to open this disk just to see it, and suspect it will get buried on the desk with time, like the stories, disappear in the dustbin of history, get cleaned out by office folks or thrown away. i try to get up my energy, just a little bit a day, to put it in order, rescue it, bring it out; this is overwhelming though. it's kind of like a ninety-degree day. it's easier to sit back, rest, & worry.

around june you see why the south gets set back in a lazy summer, folks drink ice tea and sit under a porch for most of the afternoon; after a while they leave out the 'd' even when they spell 'ice'. it's too much trouble. the warm humid air comes up from the gulf and hangs over the dry useless land, until about october, and by then all the young'uns have left home or got pregnant or whatever, cause you were too lazy to go watch 'em every minute. the train comes by and the graffiti on the chicago cars reminds you that there's a world out there, but here, train means you sit in the road for a minute or two, and if your window isn't rolled up and aircon on, you fry within minutes, and wish you had a stream-fed farm pond to stick your head in, say hello to the fishes, and cool off a little. but the good news is, pulliam pool is apparently open, which is probably why i'm thinking this way, and i might get over there, if not tomorrow, maybe early next week; got over to the lake for a dip last weekend, and didn't see any turtles, but at least got the summer baptized, the sand in my hair, and in the cracks dug by the sunburn.

my parents had a 60th anniversary today; this is an incredible feat, really, to make it that long; and, they're still in love, planning a reunion, doing well, living where they want. from them, i get my faith in family, my loyalty, my love of children, my feeling that, in their innocence, they are likely to be not at fault, in the big picture, when the trouble comes down the pike. may i never, ever, become too tired to be there for them, to take their side, against the cruelties of the world. to my parents, who i thank from the bottom of my heart, who themselves are a little tired, maybe, i say, my heart is with you, out there on the high desert, the chihuahua, with its blooming cactus, the organs a light purple off on the horizon; the secret, as my dad also taught me, is that 5:30 in the morning is a magical time; if i could just rearrange, once again, so as to see that morning dew, and the sun come up in the east, and the fresh air, from lack of cars for an hour or two, my faith in the wonders of life would unfold again, like the little cacti turning toward the sun. sometimes the desert sand is so fine, even a tiny lizard leaves prints that will stay there all day, burned in, as if waiting for a detective to find it- though the desert is full of life, no reason, really, to go looking for it. i'm going out there again, in aug.- just bought tickets- and hope, above all else, to see that sunrise. it would be good for the spirit.