The tents of heaven lie encamped beyond my mortal gaze, farther than I care to look, where the dust drifts upward.

I read the Hagakure, and wonder at the use of the word "perplexed". This translation by William Scott Wilson seems to be the most widely-known translation, and is more succinct than the other translation I have at home. That other translator honed the meaning to a sword-edge and then used that edge to cut away any ambiguity, like fat from a steak.

A line about trying to avoid the rain concludes "When you are resolved from the beginning, you will not be perplexed, though you still get the same soaking."

Other words would fit easily in perplexed's stead. Angry, annoyed, frustrated, miffed, pissed, rankled. I think perplexed is still the best, for my purposes. Specific reactions are legion, but the categorical situation is not. When things go well, it seems that few people question the outcome and assume things are going right. When things do not go as desired, almost all will conclude that it should not be thus, and have ready a list of reasons why to rattle off to the nearest observer.

This disruption of thought is why I like the word perplexed. Thought is finite, and to use this precious resource to desire a world in which things are other than what is will still not affect the now, the one moment of existence, is a risky thing.

Certainly there is a time to for such things, but we're talking about a rainstorm here.

Ender and Remy had their first orchestra performance last night at Holdeman. They did well, I think. I couldn't really see.

I remember learning those songs, and I remember performing them. I had zero talent for the violin and no motivation, so I focused on looking like I knew what I was doing. It worked out well for this third chair. Oh yeah, I was actively rebelling against playing the damn thing, but Mother clearly wanted a Von Lopez Family Band.

The crowd was rowdy, but there was a crowd. Standing room only and all that. I think the boys had fun. When I did these things I remember mostly wanting to get out of there as quickly as possible. I don't think I even had any friends in my orchestra class. Nobody actively disliked me, but I was not like them. Perhaps it will all have been worth it if I ever learn to play the banjo. That'll show them. Show them all.

I didn't walk yesterday. My day off.

Still don't know what to do for the New Year. Stay home or go out or neither. Rage against the temporal tyranny.

Tired, grumpy, and miserable. And also happy, because I enjoy feeling bad once in a while. Nothing exists in itself, and I were to flatter myself that I am all over comfortable, and have been so for a long time, then I cannot be said to be comfortable any more.

I did zero hole-drilling this weekend. Yet I can't fight it much longer. Unperturbed drywall, bearing little other than itself, arrogant and red. It heaps me.

Walked 11 miles on Saturday. Then only 4 on Sunday. Sunday was malaisy, broodish, and thinly-lit. The twins came over and got really into Narnia game for the PS3, Prince Caspian I think. They proclaimed it the best game ever, until we all got stuck on this damn river-crossing part. I warned them about movie tie-in games, and now they're experiencing it again.

What now, then?

Feeling a bit closed in. The usual winter melancholy, probably. Or I could be getting sick. I'm so often allergic and so rarely sick, I forget what it feels like to truly need to take time to recuperate. Maybe I should go to bed earlier.

Disorder, perhaps. Generally I'm comfortable in it, only this time I lack the artistic credibility to justify it. A mere slovenly sloth, no suffering creator here. You want the next house over.

I worried sublimation would be a slippery slope.