Reset Thirty-Nine, Day Fifteen
Mar. 20th, 2022 03:42 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rejectomorphSaturday I went napless, and heard the mockingbird, and ate foolish things instead of meals, and watched periodic sprinkles that never fully turned to rain. I've been entirely too lethargic, and have thought about turning the thermostat up to counteract the chill that creeps into the room from the damp, but now I have decided to simply microwave a bowl of spicy ramen soup. It's probably cheaper than running the furnace, though not by much.
So it's the vernal equinox today, and there must be some sort of ritual that needs to be done, but damned if I can remember what it is. It's nothing to do with donuts, because that's something I'd remember. Maybe it's washing sheets or something. Maybe it's throwing out the expired stuff that has accumulated in the refrigerator and freezer. Maybe it's sacrificing a goat and reading its entrails. I don't believe I'd like to scry the future, though. Best not to know awful things.
The weather forecast does tell awful things. Six days with highs in the eighties starting Monday. But then there could be more rain, or at least some more showers, for two days after that, and six days with highs in the sixties. Something to dread, followed by something to look forward to. If I must survive, I can surely survive that. But before the heat wave gets here I should bake one of my vegetarian lasagnas. I had hoped to get some bread suitable for garlic toast before I did that, but it looks like I won't.
I've finished the ramen, and feel warmer. Also feel tired. Time for bed, after this:
Sunday Verse
by Philip Larkin
That was a pretty one, I heard you call
From the unsatisfactory hall
To the unsatisfactory room where I
Played record after record, idly,
Wasting my time at home, that you
Looked so much forward to.
Oliver's Riverside Blues, it was. And now
I shall, I suppose, always remember how
The flock of notes those antique Negroes blew
Our of Chicago air into
A huge remembering pre-electric horn
The year after I was born
Three decades later made this sudden bridge
From your unsatisfactory age
To my unsatisfactory prime.
Truly, though our element is time,
We're not suited to the long perspectives
Open at each instant of our lives.
They link us to our losses: worse,
They show us what we have as it once was,
Blindingly undiminished, just as though
By acting differently we could have kept it so.
So it's the vernal equinox today, and there must be some sort of ritual that needs to be done, but damned if I can remember what it is. It's nothing to do with donuts, because that's something I'd remember. Maybe it's washing sheets or something. Maybe it's throwing out the expired stuff that has accumulated in the refrigerator and freezer. Maybe it's sacrificing a goat and reading its entrails. I don't believe I'd like to scry the future, though. Best not to know awful things.
The weather forecast does tell awful things. Six days with highs in the eighties starting Monday. But then there could be more rain, or at least some more showers, for two days after that, and six days with highs in the sixties. Something to dread, followed by something to look forward to. If I must survive, I can surely survive that. But before the heat wave gets here I should bake one of my vegetarian lasagnas. I had hoped to get some bread suitable for garlic toast before I did that, but it looks like I won't.
I've finished the ramen, and feel warmer. Also feel tired. Time for bed, after this:
Sunday Verse
Reference Back
by Philip Larkin
That was a pretty one, I heard you call
From the unsatisfactory hall
To the unsatisfactory room where I
Played record after record, idly,
Wasting my time at home, that you
Looked so much forward to.
Oliver's Riverside Blues, it was. And now
I shall, I suppose, always remember how
The flock of notes those antique Negroes blew
Our of Chicago air into
A huge remembering pre-electric horn
The year after I was born
Three decades later made this sudden bridge
From your unsatisfactory age
To my unsatisfactory prime.
Truly, though our element is time,
We're not suited to the long perspectives
Open at each instant of our lives.
They link us to our losses: worse,
They show us what we have as it once was,
Blindingly undiminished, just as though
By acting differently we could have kept it so.
