Compass Ion

It was another cold and rainy day today.

I only left the house to take my brother to a doctor's appointment, but then I came right home (via Starbucks drive-through, where I picked up a grande decaf soy latte). The rest of the time I spent on the internet. What a waste.

When Dave came home, we decided on Chinese food for dinner. We went out and had our usual spicy broccoli dish and our new favorite, kung pao tofu with no peanuts. We came home via CVS and the giant fizzy drink store.

I went to bed soon after. Man, is my sleep schedule screwed up!

Here's a poem:

COMPASS — Jorge Luis Borges

Every single thing becomes a word
in a language that Someone or Something, night and day,
writes down in a never-ending scribble,
which is the history of the world, embracing

Rome, Carthage, you, me, everyone,
my life, which I do not understand, this anguish
of being enigma, accident, and puzzle,
and all the discordant languages of Babel.

Behind each name lies that which has no name.
Today I felt its nameless shadow tremble
in the blue clarity of the compass needle,

whose rule extends as far as the far seas,
something like a clock glimpsed in a dream
or a bird that stirs suddenly in its sleep.

(Translated by Alastair Reid)