Sunday updates, the long dark teatime of the soul.
Even though Sunday is technically the start of my weekend, it’s never lost the solemn air Sundays always have — the day I grew up going to church on, the day before the start of a new week, the day of fires and newspapers and donuts. I LIKE Sundays, usually, although I agree with Douglas Adams about some Sunday afternoons:
“In the end, it was the Sunday afternoons he couldn’t cope with, and that terrible listlessness which starts to set in at about 2:55, when you know that you’ve had all the baths you can usefully have that day, that however hard you stare at any given paragraph in the papers you will never actually read it, or use the revolutionary new pruning technique it describes, and that as you stare at the clock the hands will move relentlessly on to four o’clock, and you will enter the long dark teatime of the soul.
But I’m more than an hour away from 2:55 and the candle is jumping in its holder, the rain is falling, and I have a dog snoring next to me. In a few minutes I’ll dive back into Dragon Age and I have so much to say about Sera who I can’t have in my party but whom I adore.
It’s the kind of day I wish I was reading a cozy mystery — I am reading a mystery (the Silkworm) which is very page turning but not quite the same. I wish I was reading Sherlock Holmes for the first time, or that I hadn’t read every Agatha Christie ever already. (Holly, in Red Dwarf, agrees with me — he has Dave erase the memory of Christie books from his database to help pass endless space time, and I’m sensing a theme here). Ditto, actually, with Wodehouse which is often set in summer and rarely has a mystery but very neatly fits the cozy side of things.
Anyway. A check in before the start of next week. It’s been a nice one — I love winter, the cold light (and the cold air) and the big snow moons and even the grey rain. I love it for its very bleakness, because it hones your attention and your work and your thoughts. I love the way candles seem warmer and any sunlight seems like a gift and the way that I try to catch its reflection everywhere. I love the piles of blankets on my bed and curling around a book and everything about this season except for the fact that I can’t give the dog daily walks after work. But soon. If the snow melts enough to let me into the woods, that is.