Day 0024

I have faltered somewhat today, having burnt myself out rather with a long and sleepless night of racing thoughts. I've been in a bit of a fugue state.

I just about mustered energy to go downtown to the Salmagundi Club to see the newly opened exhibition of the Art Renewal Center's 2015/16 salon and to pep myself up with a couple of coffees en-route.

The work there was encouragingly not as good as I thought it would be. There were some nice enough pieces, but nothing significantly better than I've seen by some of my peers at art school. Most of it was fairly mediocre attempts at wringing some meaning out of a boring concept, and often without the technical virtuosity necessary to allow me to overlook its lack of substance. This was good because it makes me feel like there's hope yet for me.

I'm running out of steam today and had to pause Ulysses because it was making my head ache. I switched over to Paradise Lost for a bit (because Joyce kept on dishing out Miltonic allusions and I wanted it from the horse's mouth), but that was still a bit much so I have ended the day in the best of hands, with Wodehouse, Bertie and Jeeves. Here's the balm for the ailing soul:

It has been well said of Bertram Wooster by those who enjoy his close acquaintance that if there is one quality more than another that distinguishes him, it is his ability to keep the lip stiff and upper and make the best of things. Though crushed to earth, as the expression is, he rises again - not absolutely in mid-season form, perhaps, but perkier than you would expect and with an eye alert for silver linings. P. G. Wodehouse, Joy in the Morning