I finished the first pass through the Epistle of James this afternoon — so if my editor demanded a draft on short notice, I could send in something that was uneven but not incomplete. This feels very good. I came home from work early and opened a novel, made a double portion of red curry (now I have some to put away), and as the evening settled the day’s gentle rain turned into a torrential downpour. I might be tempted to dash out to sit under an awning sipping a cup of decaf americano, but I don’t know what would be open, and I think I’ll just settle back here and read with the away-from-the-wind window wide open, swallowing fresh wet air, and soaking up the relaxation.
I will pick James up again on Monday, from the beginning (much of the formatting, alas, is from the pre-Unicode era), but the next few days are marked for very calm, leisurely contemplation of the five courses in which I’m teaching next year, the novels I have stacked up for Margaret’s eventual arrival, and permitting my mind to wander without the stern oversight of my work ethic.

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