it is not what you say that matters but the manner in which you say it; there lies the secret of the ages

    I'm back. Have been up north the past week or so, staying with family for a much-needed and overdue vacation. Tomorrow I return to my regular life. Today was transition day, travel and resettling. It was a very hot day, stormy, exhausting. I'm really hoping for some good sleep tonight; the past few nights have been short and restless.
     I read eight novels while I was away, two books of poetry, a philosophical study, and numerous magazines and newspapers. There must have been a mental/emotional debt owed, for me to respond that way.
     While packing the car this morning, something went 'ping' in my right hand. The left side of my palm, at the base of my pinkie, immediately went hot, swollen and bruised. No idea what actually happened, but it hurts quite a bit.
     I'm pondering turning off Facebook. I've the same objections that many people do, of course, but the primary reason that I don't want it is that it is a very dirty window through which to view some people that I'd prefer to see more cleanly. Put another way, some individuals that I like in real life, I gravely dislike on Facebook. I feel like I've got a choice, to continue on this path or to change it. To change it, though, affects many others. What am I willing to give up for what I want?
     In an effort to pare down my overall "footprint" in the world, I'm sorting through the stuff I've accumulated in various places. Keeping some, discarding/recycling some, and giving the rest away (to more appropriate parties, e.g. friends, charities, churches). The results of these efforts are not always "successful" in the sense that I'm nearly continuously amazed by what I'm dealing with (how can I not know what I've got?) and I'm keeping more than I'd like (though, as I often urge colleagues at work, one needs give no reason to keep something, since one got it in the first place), but at least I'm getting through some of it. My latest attempts were directed toward some highly-organized plastic storage bins in my parents' basement, filled with law school class notes. Considering the volume and quality of notes that I flipped through and recycled this week, I was an extraordinary note-taker in law school. It is not surprising to see that the classes in which my notes were even more remarkably better organized and detailed were the ones in which I particularly excelled. I think I wrote down every word that my Evidence professor spoke; I loved that class and adored the prof, and it showed in the notes that I took. To look back at that time with feelings more like pride or longing and less like scorn, anger or inadequacy must mean that I've both accepted that I am an attorney (for real, no backs), and forgiven myself for doing it.

[the title quotation is by William Carlos Williams, from Selected Essays]