This for the most part is setled in the spleane, and with his vapours anoyeth the harte and passing vp to the brayne, counterfetteth terrible obiectes to the fantasie, and polluting both the substance, and spirits of the brayne, causeth it without externall occasion, to forge monstrous fictions, and terrible to the conceite, which the iudgement taking as they are presented by the disordered instrument, deliuer ouer to the hart, which hath no iudgement of discretion in it self, but giuing credite to the mistaken report of the braine, breaketh out into that inordinate passion, against reason.

Dr. Timothy Bright, 1586

awareI am not the kind of person who gets supercharged with the new year.  In fact, the opposite takes place as I slip into a state of melancholy.  At the New Year’s party I attended yesterday afternoon I heard several people talk about changing their diets for the year; despite my melancholy I dove into the chocolate truffles, consuming an inordinate number before coming up for air.  Like an otter, I looked around, saw no one observing me, and dove in again.  Earlier I had done the same with the dates and cream cheese, buoyed as another guest said he hated two things:  dates and cream cheese.  The food, as you might infer, was excellent with empanadas, chicken mole, various salsas, ponce, and other Mexican treats.

The weather broke yesterday, being slightly warmer, and that led to a heavy rain overnight.  As usual at this time of year, I feel adrift, having broken free of the traditional thoughts and songs of Christmas, having severed ties to groups I’d joined, and wondering where I’ll be in a few months.  I looked at the topics on which I’d posted over the past year and am aware of how insular my postings have become.

A friend is undergoing surgery this Friday morning and I wish her well.  It is not a serious surgery but all surgeries can become serious.  Her sister is there to help her recover and that bodes well for her. I had the opportunity to skype with another friend New Year’s night and was happy to see her looking so well, especially after her bouts with serious illness a little over a year ago.


The song dates from 1997, when Paula Cole used to be a flashier performer.  Now she’s using Kickstarter to fund a second career incarnation.

I am not the person who is singing
I am the silent one inside
I am not the one who laughs at people’s jokes I just pacify their egos
I am not my house, my car, my songs
They are only just stops along my way
I am like the winter
I’m a dark cold female
With a golden ring of wisdom in my cave


And it is me who is my enemy
Me who beats me up
Me who makes the monsters
Me who strips my confidence

I am carrying my voice
I am carrying my heart
I am carrying my rhythm
I am carrying my prayers
But you can’t kill my spirit
It’s soaring and it’s strong
Like a mountain
I’ll go on and on
But when my wings are folded
The brightly colored moth
Blends into the dirt into the ground


And it’s me who’s too weak
And it’s me who’s too shy
To ask for the thing i love
And it’s me who’s too weak
And it’s me who’s too shy
To ask for the thing i love
That I love

I am walking on the bridge
I am over the water
And I’m scared as hell
But I know there’s something better
Yes I know there’s something
Yes I know, i know, yes i know

That I love
But it’s me
And it’s me
But it’s me


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