November 8, 2017

7.30 am: A communion. 8.00 am: To begin: a letter. 8.30 am: A preparation for departure. The air was keen, enlivening, heartening. Today, thereafter, my reflections were committed to a dictaphone. 8.30 am: Preparations for the the second year priming class at 10.00 am. 9.00 am: A re-routed MA Fine Art tutorial followed by administrations 10.00am: The priming demonstration:

 

10.45 am: Time for teaching prep and administrations before a peregrination to the Old College for an MA Fine Art tutorial:

Afterwards, a lunchtime consultation with the above. 2.15 pm: I’d time to set in motion several admin projects before walking the hill to the National Library of Wales for the second of our dementia working party meetings with the Commission. We seem, now, to be on point. There was a stronger sense of doability; more light and, with it, a clearer sense of mission.

5.00 pm: Back at homebase, I mopped up some of the incoming mail before making dinner. 6.00 pm: I caught up with the news headlines.

7.00 pm: I compressed my abstract for the Digital Past 2018 conference in readiness for publication. 8.30 pm had to be my cut-off time. My mind and emotions were idling. In this condition, work becomes toil and all positive affections are held in abeyance. Life out of kilter. Finally: a letter.

Dictaphonics:

He’ll be there at the meeting on Thursday.
Some things are changing – coming into focus.
I’ll send a handwritten letter.
In the past, I gave up something very precious to me. Years later it was returned, polished.
When filling the water jug for the office kettle, I always think about the theme of Aphrodite at the water-hole.
I sense a change in the tide.
From my office window, I can see the sea’s horizon .
Some feelings, like some knowledge, lie below the surface of articulation.
In a cafe window, light and shadow cast through a Venetian blind reminds me of Hopper.
Descriptive texts substituting for photographs.
Not all possibilities are possible at all times.
A commitment and a determination, even in the face of failing feeling.
Someone with whom to be totally honest.
Imagining what’s impossible momentarily breaks the spell of it’s hopelessness.

 

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