... another small instance of the everyday - or the not-quote-everyday, but very many days - sunset from the bathroom window. I still don't think that I can quite get used to palm trees being something that are quotidian. I also think that my piece on the everyday, whilst deliberately humanist, may be too human-centered, too focused on human perception and possible transformation. Somewhere down the line I swallowed too much George Eliot in large influential lumps, and still find it hard to focus on the Woolfian prescription to write about, to imagine, the world seen without a self. Or rather, the idea intrigues me - would it still, therefore, count as "the everyday"? But I'm already over my word limit, even if slightly, and maybe this is where to start my next speculations.