I hope I may be forgiven my two minutes worth of Hate the other day. But when you are fed a daily diet of lies, terror and intellectual capitulation in the face of terror, it is hard not to want to, occasionally, blow off steam.
I usually try to do this creatively, in the manner of a controlled demolition we know as a sonnet. Or I go to the gym and add a few extra plates to my squats. Sometimes I compose sonnets while I squat. These efforts I would rather not publish, however, as they are full of the most unprintable, fraudulent, flatulent noise....Today is a much better day than Tuesday, I am happy to report. We are two steps closer to the weekend, after all. And even though I left my hat at home this morning, and I nearly froze my head off waiting for the 8:39 in Stamford, I have been trying to keep my spirits up: I am avoiding the news and reading a little poetry online. It is true that, during lunch, I will be forced to brave the cold and run over to the little stall on 45th and 2nd where they sell hats. I also need to run to CVS. So I will try to look at the hat buying today as an adventure--a slight detour into the world of whimsy. I try to look at Life as an adventure, but when I am tired my imagination is not always up to the task.
Anyhow, if you have nothing else to do this afternoon, why don't you tag along? Everyone should visit New York once in their lives. We can cross 3rd Avenue, into the Crimea. The UN is just down the street. And when we come back to the Chrysler Building, foot cream in hand, clad uniformly in our new Balaclava Helmets, ladies will be leaning out of windows, scattering panties on our heads, like laurels, for conquering heroes.As a footnote, I should like to add that at 5:08pm today, I actually discovered my old hat, the one I thought I had left at home, in my gym bag. I was rummaging around for a pear. Apparently, I remembered the hat, but forgot the fruit.
How damned irritating. I am hungry. And, at 5:00pm, I always look forward to a little fruit.
Today is one of those days of...
I am not sure what. You run the vacuum, you mop the floor, you fold the laundry, perhaps you boil seven large eggs, and three of them burst, frothing the pot all over the stove, but you never quite get to making the egg salad for your sandwiches for the week.
Perhaps you try hanging the new calendar you got for Christmas, and in some fashion acknowledge the passage of time. It looks lovely. Ancient maps of the world. You flip through it: months and months, pregnant with interesting possibilities. June 9th, for instance. That's a Monday, in 2008. Who knows what will happen then? Perhaps it is the day your lottery numbers come up. Perhaps it will just be warm and beautiful.
And, look here, closer to home: your trip to Houston on February 1st. You have never been to Houston. Nice. Something new. Barbecue. And yet...
The light doesn't seem quite right. The sun is too orange today. The angle is wrong. It is still setting too early. And then there is work tomorrow. The train. Emerging at 1:30 for luncheon. You will have the poached salmon, for a change. Emerging at 5:30 to exercise. 2 hours, and 1000 calories later, you spend 10 minutes in the steam room. The 8:07 home.
All of the elements of satisfaction are there. All arranged neatly into rows, and columns: Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, etc.. And yet, looking out over the kitchen sink, into the back yard, how gray and neglected the bowl of the birdbath looks this afternoon. Even that cardinal in the dogwood, cocking his head querelously at you, looks gray in this light!
...
'Tis not too late to seek a newer world.
Anyhow, if you have nothing else to do this afternoon, why don't you tag along? Everyone should visit New York once in their lives. We can cross 3rd Avenue, into the Crimea. The UN is just down the street. And when we come back to the Chrysler Building, foot cream in hand, clad uniformly in our new Balaclava Helmets, ladies will be leaning out of windows, scattering panties on our heads, like laurels, for conquering heroes.
