I'll spend today prepping for a high school visit, copyediting a manuscript, dealing with reprint permissions, washing clothes, driving a boy to piano lessons, cleaning out my herb garden, rehearsing with the band . . . doesn't my day sound worthwhile? And yet what good does it do? Don't answer that question. There isn't any answer.
Someone told me recently, "If nothing else, you're a coper." Coping how? I wondered. And with what? And then I didn't want to think any more about what my friend meant by that remark.
There's cowardice for you . . . though of course coping requires a blind eye. Or a blinded one.
What would Shakespeare say? Perhaps
Here the street is narrow;On the other hand, perhaps "There is no special providence in the fall of a sparrow" or "Patience herself would startle at this letter, / And play the swaggerer."
The throng that follows Caesar at the heels,
Of senators, or praetors, or common suitors,
Will crowd a feeble man almost to death.