A Poetics of Space (i)

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Awake at 2:10 a.m. (checked the clock radio), listen to podcasts until 3:30 a.m. then fitful sleep through to the so-called dawn. However, by 7:30 a.m. I'm ready to sleep on. Pull back the curtains on a benighted street, rain lashing the windows, pools of water extending down the road - who'd want to get up on a day like this? The quandary: torn between insomnia and the urge to hibernate.

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Two days of greedy reading. Gaston Bachelard's The Poetics of Space (inexhaustible), Barthes' Empire of Signs and other Japanese-related materials. Begin Murakami's Norwegian Wood and find myself at Chapter 5 with little effort (is he that good?).

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Deplorable absence of making so far into the New Year. So much for resolutions (rather, intentions). Click back through Kate Greenstreet's (sadly now defunct) blog for inspiration. Wish she'd revive it.

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More sad news from the U.K. meaning another trip over, another funeral. Why doesn't something cheerful happen for a change?

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4:00 p.m. fed up with myself and the world in general I make tea and go upstairs to at least do something before the holidays evaporate. Start leafing through some volumes, noting images, ideas start to form. And little by little ...

Why don't I remember this from previous times? The best tonic there is - work.