rejectomorph (flying_blind) wrote,


It's getting chilly tonight, heading down to 39 degrees. It's still pretty breezy out, too, though it never got as windy in the valley today as it has in the mountains. What wind we do get is coming from the northeast, and luckily there aren't any fires burning in that direction. The fires are all west and south of here, so the smoke is being blown toward the coast and the bay area. The big fire in Sonoma County has expanded again, but still hasn't burned more than a few dozen buildings. Thanks to the wind, containment is actually lower than it was yesterday, dropping to five percent from a peak of eleven percent. The wind should diminish for a while before returning Tuesday. But 180,000 people are now under evacuation orders, with the evacuated area extending all the way to the coast and into parts of Santa Rosa. Meantime, I'm bound to be burning gas in my furnace tonight as the wintry chill sets in.

My only outing today was to the Goodwill store to look at books (none to buy) and the Dollar Tree, where I picked up some parchment paper for baking (oven season is here!) and a bottle of root beer. Oh, and a big bag of off-brand cheese balls, of which I downed what seemed like hundreds while I was eating them but turned out to be only a few dozen when I checked the bag, which is still mostly full. I never though I'd see the day when I could get so much of such an unhealthy snack for so little. Progress is real! While I don't really like the taste of cheese balls, I do enjoy the way they crunch when I bite them. They are kind of like edible styrofoam, with salt.

The week ahead should be mild, by day at least. but I have made no plans to go out. I might or I might not. I'm not really expecting to feel very energetic anymore, and have a suspicion that I'l be having more than a few decidedly lethargic days. That means that if I do roue myself to go do something it will be a pleasant surprise. I hate unpleasant surprises, but pleasant ones are okay. I guess.

Sunday Verse

Doom of Exiles

by Sylvia Plath

Now we, returning from the vaulted domes
Of our colossal sleep, come home to find
A tall metropolis of catacombs
Erected down the gangways of our mind.

Green alleys where we reveled have become
The infernal haunt of demon dangers;
Both seraph song and violins are dumb;
Each clock tick consecrates the death of strangers

Backward we traveled to reclaim the day
Before we fell, like Icarus, undone;
All we find are altars in decay
And profane words scrawled black across the sun.

Still, stubbornly we try to crack the nut
In which the riddle of our race is shut.


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