If you want to get something done, ask a busy person. It might be all it takes to raise their tension levels above a critical threshold level, triggering a heart attack and stopping them from making you look so bad all the time. Or at least, the distraction provided by the commotion will buy you time to find another solution.

At least, that’s the way it looks to me this week, during which I have been cast against type as the busy person and besides a bunch of work also had a recital, an invitation to perform that composition for soprano and theremin we did (“The Cashier’s Ascension”) at a concert next fall, wrote an obituary, organized a trip (with a lot of help), wrote a text for a friend’s book, applied to participate in what sounds like a fascinating international group project, and some other stuff I’m forgetting, like assemble that goddamned garden pavillion…

It’s actually quite good, because it’s got me unblocked.