Maybe it's the contrast to all the intellectual activity, the critical theory thoughts bumping up against each other. Today I'm re-reading Spivak's wonderful essay, "Can the Subaltern Speak?", and even though she's one of the more readable of the post-structuralist critics (is post-structuralist a reasonable name for her? She's working in the Marxist tradition in that essay -- but she's talking quite a bit about Derrida -- in any case, that's the relevant part when you're talking about being hard-to-understand, 'cause Marx and Foucault and Said are actually pretty straightforward; they don't seem as fond of the big words as some of the others), she does make my head hurt sometimes (like this sentence probably did to you).
So it's nice, coming out to my dining room to check e-mail, letting my eyes rest for a few minutes on the cool green harmony of my plants. The hydrangea's soft watercolor blue contrasts so well wth the lean green leaves of our new bamboo (which we found someone abandoning on Sunday, as they planned to move into a home with lower ceilings). And of course, it's even more restful when Kevin's home, feet up on the edge of the couch, thinking about math. That's what's keeping me sane. Plants and Kevin.