6.15.20 ←

→ 6.17.20

there was no plan; it was all about the process (and then of course I have to put it up here and it turns into product, suddenly)  ⋅  when this all started we thought somehow it would be relatively brief—not too short, but not all that long really; I think I got library books to last a month or two thinking that was being paranoid, thinking of ”Frederick” and ”The Long Winter” though I have not yet cracked the books of poetry we were all going to read aloud...  ⋅  and now it looks endless; gradual change but how long till a return to ”normal”? Never, because it will be so long till then that ”normal” will have shifted. As always we will not go back to something, but forward to something else; we’re just not usually so aware of it, nor is the process so painfully slow, or just so much in the foreground of our lives.  ⋅  So maybe patience is wrong. Maybe we need tolerance of extended discomfort and difficulty. Maybe we’re sitting here being too passive and wanting things to go back when we have to create the forward and accept what may be here to stay. Or maybe I just need to get some sleep.  ⋅  Anyway, without a clear end but more likely a gradual shifting and shifting again, the question has arisen, ”When will the project end?” And the answer is, of course, consistent with everything else right now: ”No one knows.”  ⋅  8½” × 11”  ⋅  india ink on acid-free cardstock