End of a five shift run.  Beginning with a crazed Saturday night, ending on a crazed Wednesday jazz night, full house, full bar, and Tuesday had not been easy either, as far as the pace and the physical effort.  I'd been thinking about going up to see mom with the few days off I had, but I was tired, and knew it was basically a good decision to not be trying to make that effort when I woke up.

But I woke up ashamed of myself, for such reasons, and after getting a quick call from mom, "rest some more and call me back later," she said, as I pulled myself out of bed and found a tee shirt, my green chamois shirt, my Adidas track pants, still with yesterday's socks on, after getting up and having cups of yesterday's tea, I looked through Facebook and related things on my iPhone, blankly waking up with wasting time.  I feel guilty about the distance, about not being able to go up and see her in such circumstances, but I'm tired.  Looking for direction.

Hot tea, fresh, is better than the third steeped pot of yesterday's tea, and I warmed some bone broth in a bowl in the toaster over, cut a lemon for hot water when the water came to boil.

It's too much, if work does that to you.  I'm even having trouble keeping my thoughts together, as if the string holding them together through the week has fallen.  On top of "sad, rather be elsewhere, but here I am, usual duties to do, and still taking my medication for the sinusitis."

Inspiration to what one was writing on the day before is distant.


And so when I woke, I made small prayers.  I called work to find that I could get some time off.


The road is the monastery, the great teaching.