For of all sad words of tongue or pen,
The saddest are these: “It might have been!”
Yesterday, 19 March 2017, was day number 183 – that is, the exact halfway day. Despite a moderately Herculean effort (if I do say so myself), having been a month behind schedule this time last month, I finished book number 183, Leave It to Psmith, at one o’clock this morning, and so crested the metaphorical Alps of my project an hour behind schedule and, unlike Phileas Fogg, without any clever chicanery or chronometric sleight of hand to save the day. (If you were unaware of the denouement of that book and I have now spoilt it for you, you have only yourself to blame.)
Still! Technical failure notwithstanding, I find it pretty encouraging to have broken the back of the project on schedule, or as near as makes no difference. There are now more books behind me than ahead and, by a coincidence so glorious I find it tempting to say I planned it, today is the vernal equinox, meaning that from now on days are finally longer than nights.
The lark’s on the wing;
The snail’s on the thorn;
God’s in His heaven—All’s right with the world!