Emergent Occasions

[steepholm]

I've been ill for the past week, which is highly unusual for me. Because I'm not used to it, I spent much of my time in febrile self-diagnosis. For the record, at various points I was convinced that I was dying of:

a) Crohn's disease
b) tuberculosis
c) a cumulative series of "micro-strokes"
d) ergot poisoning
e) male pattern baldness

None of the above seems to be true, I'm glad to report, at least to a fatal degree. I have however lost four pounds, and my appetite's still not back, which is worrying, what with teaching starting again tomorrow.

Oh, and of course when I knew I was dying I found myself morbidly dwelling on the utter uselessness-or-at-least-transience of my life, a theme illustrated by the following lines of Gerard Manley H, which repeatedly crashed round my head without permission:

How far from then forethought of, all thy more boisterous years,
When thou at the random grim forge, powerful amidst peers,
Didst fettle for the great grey dray-horse his bright and battering sandal!

Comments

[lady-schrapnell.livejournal.com]

Perhaps you could try getting your mind to focus on this other bit of Gerald Manley Hopkins, which is a nice antidote to the Felix Randal lines:

No wonder of it: sheer plod makes plough down sillion
Shine, and blue-bleak embers, ah my dear,
Fall, gall themselves, and gash gold-vermillion

I think you could easily match GMH for volume of 'sheer plod' these days, though hopefully not for the depression!

[steepholm.livejournal.com]

That image does remind me a bit of the ghastly sheen of too-much-sat-upon school trousers! Anyway, at least I'm getting plenty of liquids - whereas GMH went without water once a) as an ascetic exercise and b) to see what would happen. What happened? His tongue went black.

Compared to some people, I'm actually quite sensible!