There is no explanation here. There is no explanation needed today. Maybe 160bpm is the prescription to treat a certain mood. Maybe it imitates or mirrors an anxious pulse rate. Perhaps it’s just music and you either enjoy it or you don’t with no rhyme or reason. Go with it. Move with it.

I did a pretty good job all weekend avoiding news or even discussion of plague or war. Put whatever judgment you choose on that as well. This is all so much bigger than me. My one voice in the cacaphony of outrage isn’t going to change anything and my throat is raw from shouting. It’s been a lifetime of shouting. Of sounding alarms. Of trying to… Well what was I trying to do or say? Maybe it was never more than trying to be heard and be right about something. Perhaps it was never ever more than my own need for attention.

How sad.

In any event, what’s better now than silence, and maybe a bit of contrition? Is there any chance at all that ten Our Fathers and ten Hail Marys could bring me absolution? It does seem a little late for any of that but just maybe.

So that was the weekend. It was about as peaceful a spell of time as you could possibly conjure, especially for me. Sure there were moments of anxiety and racing thoughts, and guilt and insecurity and all the Ugly Sisters that pass through from time to time. Mostly though it was quiet and my head was quiet. It’s Monday now though and time to get back to it. I don’t exactly feel ready to get back to it, whatever it is. Too late to worry about being ready though. It’s here. It’s too late to clean the commode when the guests are at the front door.

Hello Monday.