Thursday
Up at 430 and did 2 loads of laundry. The sign posted in the laundry room across the hall from me says don’t start until 9, but I hate doing laundry once the sun is up. I feel like I’m getting away with something to have it all done, folded, and put away before Fresh Market opens at 6. Did I write ‘folded’? Hah! I mean bunched up into a ball and crammed into drawers by brute force . . .
As I once wrote: My idea of a thorough house cleaning is to flush the toilet.
There’s a new biography of Mel Brooks just out, which I’m thinking of getting on my Kindle next month, for $24.00. And the new Stan & Ollie movie can be preordered on YouTube for $14.99 -- so already I’m $39.00 in the hole for April, cuz I never stint on good things like books and movies. And food. I like to talk about my ‘budget’ but it’s about as real and concrete as a unicorn. However, in order to impress everyone in the world I wish to announce that I will fight my inclination to go get a fresh bagel at Fresh Market this morning for 79 cents and instead have some shirred eggs with raisin toast. And then wait until I get hungry enough sometime this afternoon to eat leftover meatloaf with canned spinach (which I actually love, sprinkled with vinegar and a dusting of nutmeg.)
Right now I gotta shower, grease up with Nystatin ointment, make my bed, say my prayers, eat b’fast and then try to write in the verse libre style before I fall into a coma and sleep the rest of the morning away in my recliner.
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Reading the March edition of Poetry magazine. It leaves me thinking most poets today want to turn mystery into cliche. That’s a cheap way to explain things. I couldn’t even finish the issue. So I listened to several TED talks instead.
Watched Wheeler & Woolsey in ‘Kentucky Kernels’ on YouTube this afternoon. 30 years ago I saw the same movie, which was made in 1934, and thought it was a scream. Today . . . meh, contrived and hokey. I have lost some kind of ability to accept and enjoy things like corny comedians and puckish authors like P.G. Wodehouse or Charles Dickens. I am grown more subtle in my intellect and humors, but no happier.
Junk mail today is from Stewart Healthcare Network. A survey of how satisfied I am with their services. Problem is . . . I don’t use their network; I am signed up with Humana. So how did they get my name and address to mail this dreck to me? I often just tear these things up w/o bothering to open them -- but I’m never quite certain it’s junk mail or something official; junk mail comes disguised as government documents and banking statements nowadays.
19 years ago I had a beef with Wells Fargo -- they allowed the Child Support Services to access my savings account and withdraw everything in it. I was furious, so I closed all my accounts with them. I kept getting letters from them about once a month, which I would immediately rip to shreds. But one day as I was about to tear up one of their letters I felt something different inside the envelope; it felt much stiffer -- so I opened it up and there was a check for the entire amount that had been stolen out of my account, with a brief letter of apology for the mistake.
If I write down the narrative of tomorrow right now, will that influence at all what will actually occur tomorrow? Here goes:
I’ll walk to the Rec Center for an early morning swim and meet a fascinating Asian women who I will take to lunch.
Sarah and Adam will come visit me in the afternoon with their families.
I’ll write several good poems and receive email compliments from the reporters I based the poems on.
I’ll have a bagel with smoked salmon-flavored cream cheese for breakfast.
I’ll buy a book of stamps and keep sending out my postcards to the president for the rest of the month.
Adam will send me a dozen 200 word rewrite assignments.
So now this is actually not a diary entry any more, but a request for a chain email; send it to four people you know, who will in turn send it to four more people, and so on . . . and that way the karmic energy and mojo will be activated and it will all come true. Now to find my New Age crystals to put under my pillow . . .
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