By Gerard Manley Hopkins
The times are nightfall, look, their light grows less;
The times are winter, watch, a world undone:
They waste, they wither worse; they as they run
Or bring more or more blazon man’s distress.
And I not help. Nor word now of success:
All is from wreck, here, there, to rescue one—
Work which to see scarce so much as begun
Makes welcome death, does dear forgetfulness.
Or what is else? There is your world within.
There rid the dragons, root out there the sin.
Your will is law in that small commonweal...
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Nothing this week is getting done on anything like the schedule I planned. This is partly my own fault for not managing my time very well and partly the fault of every place I have ever shopped, donated, clicked for a petition, promised to call my senator, or simply clicked through without clearing my cookies -- not that I read every email, mostly I clicked "unsubscribe" but it still took a ridiculous amount of time. Yeah, I have no exciting accomplishments to report except rearranging my DVDs to reflect the fact that after Cyber Monday sales, I now own all five Twilight movies.
We watched Arrow to keep up with the Flash crossover, which was moderately diverting but did not make me say "Damn, if only I had kept up with the show," then we watched The 100, which is incapable of letting anyone be a good guy or a bad guy for more than a couple of weeks at a time -- I am all in favor of ambiguity in storytelling and people being multidimensional, but it's starting to feel like whiplash -- and Nashville, which needed more music, less soap. We had rain all day, I did not see any wild animals, just sleepy cats, and I am thinking I would not mind being here:
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