Peculiar sort of spiritual second wind. Perhaps the extra hour or two of sleep last night. Treat unexplained strength and bonheur like hard cheese -- put it in your pocket for later.
(One reason for this is that it often seems to prefigure some difficulty.)
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The bread as material substance the wine as geist. The truth of the material substance is its composition and matter; the truth of geist is in its history and its future, as it is only the event.
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In a moment of extreme parsimony yesterday, elected to read in the park for a bit rather than do a second spell at sbux, given that the libraries were closed. Not too cold, a bit above 30. But reading became impossible. The great advantage of keeping to my tasks and my work is that when I've begun to lose the plot on occasion, it's obvious to me, because my eye is either just numbly glancing over the page (or taking a glancing blow from the page as my head goes down to the table for a bit of involuntary rest). Attune yourself to the work (as long as it is real work, and not servile tasks), and you preserve that which works.