Tomorrow

Who is it that is always coming but never here?  That old riddle was posed to me two days ago and I have spent all too many minutes wrestling with the answer until finally I cut to the chase and went on to Google.  Tomorrow, of course.  Tomorrow is when I go to bed, and I think that before too long I will wake up after a good night's sleep, turn on the espresso machine and pick The New York Times off the doormat.  And then I am immersed in today;  The Times does its duty to bring "all the news that's fit to print," but I am getting so I can't take the political news.  It's a "Punch and Judy" show that is going on too long, grown stale, and I yearn for a change in election laws where candidates can electioneer for one month tops.  So many authorities, so many back stories, and not only the American presidential election, but the implications of Brexit, and then there is the maneuvers in the MidEast.  Too much to think about, all of it grim, scarcely even room in the Times for a pleasing human interest story.  I know that I need a project.  It used to puzzle me when a friend of mine when she got to her late eighties and into her nineties used to say "I need a project."  But now I see it clearly.  My husband is on the last pages of a year old project to read Homer's Iliad through in the original Greek.  He intends to go on to the Odyssey or the Latin poet Ovid's Metamorphoses when he's done.  As I have said or whined--take your pick--before, I truly want to write a novel, but although two decades ago I churned out four, none of them very good, I cannot seem to manage it now.  Painting?  Music?  There is always going to the gym, my husband's other great project, and indeed I do that with some regularity if not the least enthusiasm.  Right now I have trainers, at two places working on my balance, and I now see them the same day for a few weeks because of scheduling conflicts, one in the morning one in the afternoon.  I came home Wednesday, the first of this new exercise regime, and I could hardly walk I was so stiff, and we had a guest for dinner.  The next thing I knew it was eleven o'clock at night and I awoke in my big chair in front of the television, the room was dark, silent, no one was about.  That was the evening that never came and I limped to bed, tomorrow was almost already here.