Again the peculiar morning exhaustion. Not complaining, just noting the fact. It's good to make explicit note of where such things happen. Excellent run yesterday. Made the goal of running straight to a certain lookout point with a wooden platform. On principle, continued on a bit past it.
Lawrence (T.E., not he of the plumed serpent) said that the Arab cultures first noticed him and took him into their confidence when they noticed that he was recording everything, including his inner states, in his notebook. Of course, he was likely working a second job that required a bit of annotation, but the point stands. It's fascinating the way he's appropriated by folks (pace Said) seeking mystic widom, when the whole gist of the fellow was that this was an incredibly literate Fellow of an Oxon. college, who kept thinking. Distant Christminster can save. (Or perhaps there should be a comma after that first word.)
Current humble quarters basically the equivalent of a states-side $40 motel room with kitchenette within walking range of mountains that go above the treeline. Which was basically the purpose. And perhaps foreseeably, the reading and writing dropped off without a proper table in the room. Still trying to fashion a way of working that relies on none of these appurtenances, but after being raised in a certain culture and in a certain way, I still, chameleon-like, fashion the existence to the room, rather than the room to the existence.
Perhaps I should start transforming the space. Make it as close as possible to the lounges in an old college. Henry James seemed most taken by the private interiors of Paris, the bric-a-brac, the draperies, rather than the monuments and the art galleries. The space is what draws us into existence. We have our being by living within this inner cube of the not-I.
At any rate, the text, however electronic, is at hand... So, to it.