Back on Track? and The Well of Anacreon

Once again I'm in imminent danger of blowing the benefits of this afternoon's badly-needed nap by staying up too late. Maybe bullet points will help me keep it brief:

• Yesterday we filled the fridge with low-carb food. We proceeded to polish off the celery in under 24 hours, which is no bad thing. Not having anything bad around to eat does seem to help, and John promises to pick up more celery. And dill pickles.
• We also went to the gym last night and tonight, with a plan to go every evening. Maybe not tomorrow, though, because of Heroes and Studio 60.
• John seems to have become my personal trainer for the moment. I told him about recent pulse readings on the treadmill over 150 (one was 166), and even though we know the numbers aren't always accurate it's clearly too high. So tonight John had me start at an appallingly slow 1.5 mph and build up from there. He wants me to work on getting up to 30 minutes instead of 20 (or last night, 15), rather than pushing myself on speed and incline.
• I've gained 20 pounds this year. Let's see how much of that I can undo by New Year's!
• I'm getting further behind on my email and blog reading,but I have a cunning plan. I'm going to start reading blogs at work - not during the day, but at 6PM when my work day is pfficially over. I can read through a month's worth of a friend's blog fairly quickly at the office, whether the page doesn't take half an hour to load. A week of that should put a big dent in my backlog!
• I'll post the third installment of Lore Goes to Mâvarin on the fiction blog as soon as I'm done with this entry.
• I'm terribly behind on the church blog and schedule page. I didn't even post that ballerina picture over there! Oh, well. Tomorrow!
  

Saturday night I was driven out of bed by an attempt to build a poem out of that spam phrase, "of previous Anacreon a Well." I'm not happy with the result, but here it is anyway:

The Well of "Anacreon"

A poem of flag and rockets
Was unlocked by an anxious Key.
Now in music, we admire it and mock it,
Forget words, and say what we see.

What we hear through a tricolor prism
Came from taverns, or so scholars tell.
Bitter drafts, and ill-sung patriotism
Share of previous "Anacreon" a well
Of fuddled emotions, and death's mystery,
And loyalty, half-blind but true.
So we lift buckets of doomed history:
Key watching as glaring bombs flew.

KFB, 10/23/06

Well, actually, the revision came out pretty well. Do you know what it's about?

I'll see what I can do with some of the other nonsense another time.

Karen

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