I had assumed that during the gift of 24… no… 36 hours of in-between I would not only uncompress my brain but flowers of thought and creativity would poke up their shoots. Boredom will do that, or so goes the truism.
(I write this in an Econolodge lobby in Grand Rapids, to which I repaired after departure delays made it certain I would not make my connecting flight in Chicago. Here I have full-strength WiFi, more warmth than in my room, a proximate bathroom, and hot tea. It’s more than reasonable… once I figured out about the bathroom.)
Sadly, I’m not thinking anything interesting. Didn’t end up with anything interesting last night, either. My brain feels like a little-used storeroom right now, complete with cobwebs.
Maybe it’s due to the labyrinth that is Schleiermacher. I still have the Tillich to go.