sometimes i think i need to think more... but i'm not always sure how to do it... does one open a book... a newspaper or magazine.... turn on the television... pop in a movie or head out to the theater... does one do nothing... or as little of nothing as is manageable... does one investigate that tiny blue spot on the wall... or close both eyes... ?

as stimulating to thought as any of these may be under the right circumstances, they are just as commonly used to avoid or delay thought... in fact, i don't usually think about thinking... i usually feel about it... and i usually feel bad about it because... i know i'm not doing it right... in a way that gets me places i haven't already been. my "thinking" normally just recycles scraps and rags of something i learned or heard... once... or twice... something that might or should be true...

some while back when dom and i were walking in the early morning moonlight i realized that i don't know anything about that globe... why do we only see one side... what's with the monthly transformation from cool amplitude (like tonight) to elegant sliver... just don't know.. but i know i can find out and learn it with some of effort...

and yet... knowing facts about things, however fascinating they may be, is not the same as thinking... which often grows out of not knowing... does it follow that the more one knows the less one thinks... could be... a satisfaction with what's given "as known"...

nobody ever just thinks... it's always about something... in a particular context... of course... i'm being silly...

suzanne is still writing on "attention"... and that... of course... is about real thinking... no thought without attention... i'm supposing that part of my problem is a busyness that disperses attention... this is the busyness of "what's happening in this next class... this next meeting?" it's the child of poor planning, procrastination, day-dreaming... i'm a master of those first two, a rank amateur with the third... alas...

now from another angle... my top news story of the week was The Colonoscopy... and as much as you'd like to have a minute-by-minute narration...and as much as i'd like to tell it... we'll have to settle for: "it happened; it was okay; my colon is fine; thanks for asking; how's yours?"

• the worst part: several months of anxious procrastination and self-berating wussyness before working up the nerve to make the appointment.
• the second worst part: the "cleansing" process - not painful, but yucky.
• the third worst part: teaching a full day on an empty stomach... with a raging head cold... even the normally noxious fumes of cafeteria food were tempting... yes, even through the stuffed-up nose.
• the best part: having it over with for another ten years...or so

i can't say anything about the procedure itself because i wasn't there...

elsewhere... football news... the carmel corsairs are still undefeated... still ranked #1... thanks to my stalwart refusal to attend any of their games... i go; they lose... it's that simple... i've got a few of these guys in class... they are exceptional human beings, but they are not the exceptions here at carmel... this week we had to talk about mediocrity as presented in "realistic" fiction like madame bovary... i said something like "in reality, we're all mediocre." the group looked at me like i was crazy... they weren't buying it... good for them (though i'd have been slightly more convinced if more than 15 out of 80 had excelled by finishing the novel on time)

now i'm off to a weekend of paper processing... can't believe we're already at the middle of the second quarter... parent-teacher conferences on monday... progress-deficiency reports due thursday... big pile of paper on my desk... here i go...

We all indulge in the strange, pleasant process called thinking, but when it comes to saying, even to someone opposite, what we think, then how little we are able to convey! The phantom is through the mind and out of the window before we can lay salt on its tail, or slowly sinking and returning to the profound darkness which it has lit up momentarily with a wandering light.

Virginia Woolf

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