Monday, November 30, 2009

when night becomes day and day becomes night and in between there is confusion

I take one daughter to the airport just as the sun throws color onto the emerging day.


During the ride, we talk about her week ahead. It’s loaded. New York this, DC that, and then, for work reasons, she comes back to the Midwest. See you in a couple of days, daughter, you with the quick pace and quick mind!

Later, I retrace these steps with my younger daughter. We are airport bound too, though with her, I review the week behind us. I listen to this once child, now wise woman. I hold her just a little bit longer. Three weeks will pass before I see her again.

At home, I have my stack of papers. Large stack. And the brief for Ed’s court case needs a final review. But really, I just want to sleep. I’m under the quilt now, drifting, maybe sleeping, maybe dozing, maybe something inbetween.

But not for long. Daytime, noontime, I’m working now, full steam ahead, onwards and upwards, tally forth! (What other words of encouragement might I use to push me forward?)

And now I am at the Law School, teaching, and now I am not. Homeward bound, where my thought’s escaping... No, you know what’s escaping? Daylight. I walk to the bus as the sun disappears and for a minute, not more, just a minute, there is profound color on campus.


Most people are returning home from work tonight, and I am too, except that I am also going to work, at the little shop where I moonlight. It's confusing and not altogether rational. I know that. I hurry. It's cold outside.