"... Holy haunts the everyday but so does disappointment."
— D. J. Waldie, Public "Policy/Private Lives" from Tell Me True: Memoir, History, and Writing A Life
Emmy seems to be on the trail of a critter, and that critter has apparently scuttled under my desk which is, of course, an area stacked with boxes and papers. This is somewhat annoying, but who knows? Perhaps it will inspire me to continue (or begin) a purge.
I do feel as if I have fallen off of my task here a bit. Although I have mostly made the attempt to write, I am not satisfied with all of the thinking that went (or didn't) go into it. And nothing has really changed, nothing materially, but if nothing too unexpectedly crummy happens, I feel reasonably stable. Maybe even productive. Maybe even moving in a better direction.
My walk today took me down to the bookmobile so that I could return that lame James Wolcott book on which I wasted a good week's reading. It probably wasn't as much of a walk as the park loop, but the important thing was that I got out of the house for awhile. I look forward to the re-opening of the library that is on the corner of 6th Avenue and 8th Street (close to that "A") but the book mobile guy said next summer, maybe. Will we even be around then?
I might be in the debtor's prison that has evidently been reinstated in some states, notwithstanding the unconstitutionality ... but constitution schmastitition ... whadda we care?
Yep. Emmylou has found herself a large cockroach. At least she is on the trail of it. Melinda and John had reported one in their apartment. Crap. Now how do I deal with this? Okay. Back fast. Emmylou had disarmed it to the point where I had no trouble with the smashing.
Well, and so I do think that every day might be one where some kind of "holy" could be found. And by "holy" I mean interesting, enlightening, educational, pleasurable, full of progress or realization. Or it could be disappointing. Most days the possibility of better is enough to make me try.
Oh, here's the bread:
Cooder and I took a nice little nap, just enough for me to be refreshed. Cooder staid in bed.
Emmy took a nap on the other end.
And all I actually have to offer as a writer, is my version of life. — Anne Lamott
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