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burning like matchsticks in the face of the darkness
 
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Tuesday, April 4th, 2006

Time Event
9:03p
F*ck.
So, we went to Class Act tonight.  After it was over I checked the pockets of my bag for my phone 'cause I'm always paranoid that it's gonna fall out.  Phone?  Yes.  Wallet?  Not so much.

I remember putting my T-Pass back in it around the middle of the train ride, and that's it.  Yes, I know my bag has loose pockets, but that's why I always have it like on my lap when I'm traveling.  We checked the auditorium floor, and the seat of the car, and those are pretty much the only places I'd been since I got off the train, so I imagine it must have exited my possession sometime on the train.  Hopefully it just fell out and I'll be able to retrieve it.  (Is it bad that I'm most upset about losing my T-Pass?  And glad that it's early enough in the month that I can buy a new one?)

So yeah, I have: my phone, my passport, my checkbook.  I'm lacking: my debit card, my T-Pass, my Harvard ID [useful primarily for getting into my professors' offices], my Smith ID ... everything else is replacable (library card which number I have memorized -- so it won't get replaced ;) -- new health insurance cards, cash, etc.).  Rly hope it shows up at South Station tomorrow morning.
11:50p
[Lent: day 35/40]
Fire, and Torrential Rain
-Anne Porter

It's midnight, I'm alone
My house is suddenly sheathed
In a thick tent of rain
These sheaves of throbbing water
This quenching cold
This dark poured into dark
Are the pure opposite
Of fire, and yet this night
Is whispering and singing like a fire.

          * * *

Fire, most beautiful of flowers,
Whose only perfume is brightness,
You have no season, and you bloom
On the highest of high altars
And under the vagrant's pot.
Through centuries on centuries
Like Christ you are everywhere,
To kindle the half cigarettes
Which the homeless find in the gutters,
And the tall paschal candle.

from An Altogether Different Language: poems 1934-1994, p. 90

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