I could just rush it and get straight to work, or as many people appear to do, not bother at all, grab a piece of toast and head to my desk. I don’t. We don’t. I, we, take time over it. There’s music from Radio 3, he does a quick weather report, then reads the online papers, I read my book and we eat. I go back and forth during it. All those pees I must do and there’s his bed to make. Today was a philosophy seminar in response to my nascent grappling with Derrida, Satre et al. We talked of Foucault and the Post Structuralists and Tallcot Parsons and the Structuralists. He becomes a teacher and I a pupil. Gobby, mind.
No moon this morning. I missed it.
