Let’s say you’re a person with a full-time job that demands physical labor. A house painter, for example. You’re on the job site before the sun fully rises, you work a full day scraping and cleaning and then finally painting, your body aching and straining for eight to ten hours. In short, you’re freaking tired.

That visual demonstrates what happened today: full-out emotional exhaustion. I referenced ‘until tomorrow’ in yesterday’s post, and what a day it was. Every emotion from shock to revulsion to elation to heartfelt empathy manifested in just a short work day, and I get the distinct privilege of working in a bombed-out shell of an office tomorrow. Interestingly enough, I managed to stay positive.

I use the phrase ’stay positive’ despite a two-graf news blurb I picked up today. I’m sorry to post such negative, horrible things, but for some reason this brief jumped off the page and grabbed me. That really colors a day for you, even though I don’t want to discuss the matter here. Draw your own conclusion, whether they be revulsion at the scene, horror at its sheer unspeakability, outrage at the episode’s religious overtones or so on. I’m not quite sure what to say.

Upon later reflection, the emotional highs and lows of the day - including my trepidations for the future and my heartfelt, nervous excitement for the future, seems somewhat muted in light of the above.

Cuisine of the day: Mexican. Too much food for you to finish in one sitting, so you turn to pitchers of Margaritas. Funny how tequila brings out the inner chatty, heart-on-your-sleeve persona in all of us.

I spent most of the evening in a beer garden, enjoying the spring weather. Then I slept. I leave you with this:

Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life’s but a walking shadow; a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more: it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.

Until tomorrow.

Diversion of the day: Crossword puzzles. If you’re stumped, say, ‘Whatever, Wayne Robert Williams,’ and move on.

I’ve become that specific sub-class of yuppie: the one that works all day, only to arrive home just before midnight to fire up the ‘puter and rock out on another task. Good for me. Then again, having some drive to create and do new things somehow mitigates that possibility of emptiness on the horizon, so we’re going to stay positive about this. Right? Right? In any case, I’m going to continue a lie that I promulgated in college, namely, that I work better late at night.

Song of the moment: ‘Landslide,’ Fleetwood Mac. It was playing in the car on the way home and, like any good rock ballad, sticks like peanut butter on the brain.

Drink of the moment: Tab. Where would we be without it? Answer: In a world without aspartame. And if I can’t have cancer-causing sweeteners, I’m sick of this shambling reality.

There was a lot of talk about the Red Sox taking the World Series in a sweep the same night as a lunar eclipse. Both happened. Coincidence?

Yes.

Today I also started seeing things through the lens of a writer. This tends to happen when I’m engrossed in a great book - suddenly the world is a canvas on which you can see the smallest tic or gesture as indicative of a person’s insecurities or predilection for Belgian waffles or whatever. And that’s what being a writer is all about, right? Seeing connections that may or may not exist?

In any case, I also had my picture taken to make sure I look just like Alan Keyes in his press release photo. The wonders of practicing Journalism! as opposed to journalism.

Book of the week: ‘A Widow for One Year,’ John Irving. It was kind enough to provide today’s title.