Monday, September 6, 2021

THE WORLD IS WHAT IT IS

 99 of #100daychallenge





















Another day. Another day. Another day.

I fought the good fight against inertia and depression. Although I felt too down to be outgoing and, for instance, return a call to my brother, I was able to get a few things done. Not without some pharmaceutical help, however. I have a reasonable supply of Strattera, left over from when Janet was taking it. In an effort to break out of the malaise and focus rut I could not surmount, I tried one (after checking that it was compatible with my other meds).

I can't say that it felt good, but I did get many more things accomplished (packing things to send to people, cleaning kitchen, some laundry) than I have in quite a long time. This is not small. Plus, after another search of my car, just as I was heading to Costco to buy new ones, I found my reading glasses. Huzzah.

In the morning, I have a CT scan of my abdomen to see if I have a second hernia. This means I have to get up at 6:30 to start drinking some vile liquid. I need a shower from all my exertions. So this will be it.


from NOTES TOWARD AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY

showing the desert to visitors

makes it real to me


when I say this is an arroyo

this a a palo verde this is a saguaro

these things exist

as if to support what I am saying

and the visitors believe me


but after they go back

to wherever they came from

and I walk through the desert alone

I know the truth about this landscape


it does not exist

I dreamed it


the inevitable consequence

of a well-directed life is death

and the inevitable consequence 

of a misdirected life

is also death


at night I keep telling myself

go to sleep nobody is to blame

we are what we are

the world is what it is


and eventually I go to sleep

but I never believe it.

— Richard Shelton, Selected Poems, 1969-1981, University of Pittsburgh Press, Pittsburgh, 1982















1 comment:

  1. I have these thoughts daily. I dwell on the roads not taken. And the road in front of me is just that, a road. Nondescript pavement, concrete and asphalt, man-made rock, making an attempt to say that this is the route, the path, but not the way. Got to get some of his poetry.

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