You have probably had those weeks. Weeks when you realize that you have been engaged, perhaps for a great while, in a great many undertakings, and that most, if not all of them, are being prosecuted badly.

The future, as you’ve had a great part in allowing it to shape up, doesn’t seem to be offering much imminent respite. Aside from repairing the things that suffered from short shrift, you face an approaching parade of fresh obligations.

In my case, it’s piles of papers to grade, letters to write, swollen technical rivers to ford, familial needs to meet, applications to file, plans to make, things to repair, and a great many important things to be reflected on. Everybody, I’m sorry.

A promise is like a fig
left on the tree.

The eating of it
is its fullfilment.

A tree full of figs
left unpicked
and bloated to splitting
is a scene of neglect.

I find I’ve a very small mouth
and an aversion to flies.