NEEDLING

It's not as if I have nothing to say. My car was reamed during the night last night by a drunk guy going a hundred miles an hour down the little street where I was parked.

I was crashing on the couch because I had drunk too much and I didn't want to drive. Kari woke me up around two in the morning. Her and Glenn's truck got totally smashed by this same drunk guy. I merely got my break lights readjusted, my trunk pushed in closer to the rear window, and my back-left blinker busted. Their car is temporarily useless. It was hauled off by the wrecker called in by the police.

I could write about all that. But… I don't feel like it. I'm tired now. All day was spent helping Brian and Tracie moving their stuff out of their old house – soon to be my new home – to their brand new home & studio. Tomorrow we start giving the old home a good clean. Next week,I move in.

In the mean time, here's another one from Philip Larkin:


          None of the books have time
          To say how being selfless feels,
          They make it sound a superior way
          Of getting what you want. It isn't at all.

          Selfessness is like waiting in a hospital
          In a badly-fitting suit on a cold wet morning.
          Selfisness is like listening to good jazz
          With drinks for further orders and a huge fire.


(Philip Larkin, 1 January 1960)