The plan this A.M. was to wake early, walk the dogs, and begin with the first of many turkey sandwiches, but fate stepped in. I did manage the p-a-r-k, but when I returned a vigorous kitchen debate was taking place between two adults on the nature of Episcopal spirituality as compared to Buddhism. Heady stuff for 7:45 and piecemeal at that.
Fortunately, I had three people I needed to consult on in the psychiatric hospital I call home.
It is good work, time spent with the mentally ill, and staff are rather chill, but it all takes a toll emotionally. I suppose it’s the boundary crossing, being an amanuensis like repository of secrets, and maintaining efforts to buck up the unbucked that can wear me out.
So at last the sandwich at the end of the tunnel felt like something earned. That and a new edition from Amazon of Some Girls with a bunch of newly released songs.
The dream now would be to do nothing, but that’s never possible. So it’s off to work at Craigie on Main and later have a listen to Regina Carter at a decent jazz club down the street.