That meditation is a total cop out. Do I really need to mediate on that? It’s a little 101—what is certain? What is real? Who are we and why are we here? I wasn’t big on philosophy in college, but I passed it.

Here is some reality: it’s Monday. I have a ton of grading to finish up. My hip hurts. My coffee’s warm. I need to write quickly so I can get this posted and get upstairs to get my kids going. That is a lot to get.

Fair enough, I don’t know what the day will bring—that is a kind of uncertainty, but I can guess at it. I have a schedule and, at this point in my life (in all our Coronic lives) the schedule doesn’t change much.

The days have a certain pattern, a certain slant of light, a certain je ne sai quoi.

I wish the days were a bit more ineffable. That that I do not know what was giddy, or perhaps even foreboding, and not so…certain. Can today be a hand addressed letter, written in a script I kind of recognize, that arrives by surprise in my mailbox? Will I open it?