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rejectomorphSaturday was the 365th day since the last time I went out to shop or go to the bank. It was a leap year, so I guess today is the actual anniversary. I've been thinking I'd like to go get some stuff at a Dollar Tree, which doesn't have online shopping for single items (you can pick up bulk packages ordered online, and I might start doing that for facial tissues and hydrogen peroxide, things I use in fairly large quantities that are cheaper at Dollar Tree than any other stores.)
But there are lots of odd little items I'd like to get there that would be a hassle for me to list and my niece to pick out, and I'm sure there are some things I'd see that I'd get on impulse. I especially want to get some kitchen implements, though I'm not sure exactly which or how many. The problem is that I don't think I have the energy to go through a store anymore. I have to sit down and rest for five minutes after going out to the mailbox and back, and that's only about as far as two aisles in a store. Age is such a pain in the ass, and just about everywhere else too.
I might have to go out anyway quite soon, but only to the bank. We can park quite close to the front door there, so I don't have to walk far. And the ride on the car (which is also unpleasant now) is only about a mile. Interestingly, there is a Dollar Tree quite near the bank, and it's larger than the one nearer my apartment. I've been wondering if I dare take a chance on walking through such a large store. The one near the bank has wider aisles than the one nearby, and might have shopping baskets I can push and lean on, which might make it a bit less tiring. The one in my neighborhood has only those hand baskets you have to carry. The sort you go to Hell in, I suppose.
Anyway. I skipped dinner again last night, when sleep crept up on me earlier than I'd expected, and also lasted a lot longer than I'd expected. I got up at five o'clock this morning. I'm kind of sad today. Maybe I'm missing last night's beer. Maybe I'll fix that dinner for lunch, and have beer then. Life has just gotten so weird. So weirder. It's always been weird.
Sunday Verse
by Billy Collins
I have never been fishing on the Susquehanna
or on any river for that matter
to be perfectly honest.
Not in July or any month
have I had the pleasure—if it is a pleasure—
of fishing on the Susquehanna.
I am more likely to be found
in a quiet room like this one—
a painting of a woman on the wall,
a bowl of tangerines on the table—
trying to manufacture the sensation
of fishing on the Susquehanna.
There is little doubt
that others have been fishing
on the Susquehanna,
rowing upstream in a wooden boat,
sliding the oars under the water
then raising them to drip in the light.
But the nearest I have ever come to
fishing on the Susquehanna
was one afternoon in a museum in Philadelphia
when I balanced a little egg of time
in front of a painting
in which that river curled around a bend
under a blue cloud-ruffled sky,
dense trees along the banks,
and a fellow with a red bandanna
sitting in a small, green
flat-bottom boat
holding the thin whip of a pole.
That is something I am unlikely
ever to do, I remember
saying to myself and the person next to me.
Then I blinked and moved on
to other American scenes
of haystacks, water whitening over rocks,
even one of a brown hare
who seemed so wired with alertness
I imagined him springing right out of the frame.
But there are lots of odd little items I'd like to get there that would be a hassle for me to list and my niece to pick out, and I'm sure there are some things I'd see that I'd get on impulse. I especially want to get some kitchen implements, though I'm not sure exactly which or how many. The problem is that I don't think I have the energy to go through a store anymore. I have to sit down and rest for five minutes after going out to the mailbox and back, and that's only about as far as two aisles in a store. Age is such a pain in the ass, and just about everywhere else too.
I might have to go out anyway quite soon, but only to the bank. We can park quite close to the front door there, so I don't have to walk far. And the ride on the car (which is also unpleasant now) is only about a mile. Interestingly, there is a Dollar Tree quite near the bank, and it's larger than the one nearer my apartment. I've been wondering if I dare take a chance on walking through such a large store. The one near the bank has wider aisles than the one nearby, and might have shopping baskets I can push and lean on, which might make it a bit less tiring. The one in my neighborhood has only those hand baskets you have to carry. The sort you go to Hell in, I suppose.
Anyway. I skipped dinner again last night, when sleep crept up on me earlier than I'd expected, and also lasted a lot longer than I'd expected. I got up at five o'clock this morning. I'm kind of sad today. Maybe I'm missing last night's beer. Maybe I'll fix that dinner for lunch, and have beer then. Life has just gotten so weird. So weirder. It's always been weird.
Sunday Verse
Fishing on the Susquehanna in July
by Billy Collins
I have never been fishing on the Susquehanna
or on any river for that matter
to be perfectly honest.
Not in July or any month
have I had the pleasure—if it is a pleasure—
of fishing on the Susquehanna.
I am more likely to be found
in a quiet room like this one—
a painting of a woman on the wall,
a bowl of tangerines on the table—
trying to manufacture the sensation
of fishing on the Susquehanna.
There is little doubt
that others have been fishing
on the Susquehanna,
rowing upstream in a wooden boat,
sliding the oars under the water
then raising them to drip in the light.
But the nearest I have ever come to
fishing on the Susquehanna
was one afternoon in a museum in Philadelphia
when I balanced a little egg of time
in front of a painting
in which that river curled around a bend
under a blue cloud-ruffled sky,
dense trees along the banks,
and a fellow with a red bandanna
sitting in a small, green
flat-bottom boat
holding the thin whip of a pole.
That is something I am unlikely
ever to do, I remember
saying to myself and the person next to me.
Then I blinked and moved on
to other American scenes
of haystacks, water whitening over rocks,
even one of a brown hare
who seemed so wired with alertness
I imagined him springing right out of the frame.
