A government spider sidled up to him and attempted to press a copy of his prepared speech into his hands. Pages three to seven of the original version were at the moment floating soggily on the Damogran Sea some five miles out from the bay. Pages one and two had been salvaged by a Damogran Frond Crested Eagle and had already become incorporated into an extraordinary new form of nest which the eagle had invented. It was constructed largely of papier-mache and it was virtually impossible for a newly hatched baby eagle to break out of it. The Damogran Frond Crested Eagle had heard of the notion of survival of the species but wanted no truck with it.
Zaphod Beeblebrox would not be needing his set speech and he gently deflected the one being offered him by the spider.
"Hi," he said again.
"Hi" is about all I have time for this evening, as well. I'm in my office at the university, in between teaching classes. Just finished up with mythology, heading toward second semester composition. Three hours of writing and talking about writing to students who are only taking the class because it's required. It's gonna be a long night.
So, hi.
I've been struggling with motivation all day. At the medical office (which will be closing in a few weeks), I sat at my desk, thinking to myself, "What's the point?" Of course, I eventually did get my work done, but that question echoed through my head all day long. It's still with me, like some kind of apathy hangover.
I'm in a blue funk. Have been since last Thursday. I'm sorely in need of some kind of injection of goodness. A good friend. Good laugh. Good book. Good poems. Good news. Something to lift my spirits. Won't be happening in the next 45 minutes, however. I'll be heading into the classroom tonight with that question reverberating in my thoughts--"What's the point?"
So, hi.
I am going to read some Sharon Olds for a little while. She's always good for some inspiration.
And a picture to lift Saint Marty's spirits spirits . . .
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