Covid World, Seven Weeks of Days

Seven weeks is a long time to spend without getting out and about. Just saying.
This morning dawned crisp (3°) and dry, with medium pollen. I didn’t feel any particular challenge in getting limber, and my mile came in at 9:42, which feels reasonable.
Morning Office, grocery trip, hot breakfast, and a morning spent reading and deliberating about (former colleague) Paul Griffiths’s essay on ‘Pascal and the Magisterium’. I seem to have been feeling more low-level anxiety today, and getting productive work done was a challenge.
It’s the sort of day I could put to good use by working on a digital version of a text, if I had started one; but if I start one, it would be likely to siphon off energy from working on the book project (or the James essay I should write this summer).
The specific work I should have accomplished much more expeditiously today was marking; even granted my aversion of marking, I ought to be quicker off the mark than I was today.
Margaret prepared a sort of chickpea pancakes (laden with veg) for dinner, we watched an episode of Vera (‘Oooh, yer ma’s been beheaded, luv’) and a HIGNFY, and then to bed.

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