I’ve got a sink full of dirty dishes, so naturally I’m putting off doing them by emailing you completely inconsequential items from my inconsequential life today.
I don’t know how you wake up in the mornings now but I am usually so stiff and brittle I could be mistaken for a bag of pretzel rods. Which, by the way, is what I keep on hand for when company comes calling -- along with lots of bottled spring water in the fridge. Nobody drinks tap water anymore and I won’t go to the expense of getting organic tidbits for all the fussy eaters in my family -- they can have a pretzel rod or go jump in the lake. Anywho, when I get up I’m barely a viable organism until I have a glass of oj. Then my tongue rehydrates and I can go splash water on my face until I feel sensations in my brain that indicate the thought process is coming online. By then it is usually almost time to go to the Rec Center for water aerobics. I’ve decided to treat the daily class there as required therapy for me -- for my unsteady legs and my unsteady mind. If I didn’t go I’d wind up in my apartment all day and all night and turn into some kind of horrid hermit who smells like sweaty socks and stale sardine cans.
And by the way, I eat about five cans of sardines a week -- usually for a late breakfast.
I’ve been dissatisfied with my morning prayers lately. I seem to be giving a speech instead of talking to God on a friendly and reverent basis. I blame this tendency on the fact that I never had any kind of a conversation with my own dad. So I don’t really know how to talk to the Father above. I’m afraid my kids don’t want to talk to me on a serious level ever -- I’m just some silly old fellow who is good for a laugh and nothing else. So they never come to me for advice or comfort or just to pass the time of day. My fault, I guess. Anywho, so I have been trying to imagine what I would like to talk to my earthly dad about if he were approachable, and then try talking about these same things to the Man Upstairs. Sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn’t. But at least it puts my brain in gear for the rest of the day.
I’m tapering off eating at the Senior Center for lunch. The food is okay as long as I don’t eat any breakfast and so am starving by noon, but what I am finding difficult is the feeling of exhaustion that comes over me around 10am every morning -- if I can’t lay down for an hour I get sick for the rest of the day. There’s no place to take a nap at the Senior Center -- if you try to lay down on one of the comfy couches a security guard comes by to tell you to wake up and sit up. The crumbs. So I try to be home by 10 am so I can fall asleep or at least rest in my recliner. Then I feel much better for the rest of the day.
Today I thought i would do some more circus memoir writing but when I began planning out a story for my blog I just couldn’t face another circus story -- my own memories are starting to bore me to death. So instead I concentrated on my poetry today, composing three decent pieces based on reporter’s stories in the NYT. I sent the poems to the reporters before putting them up on my blog and all 3 emailed with a complimentary thank you. So that made me feel pretty good. At least I haven’t lost my touch. Then I decided, what the heck, I’ll say another prayer because I was falling into a daydream where the New York Times offers me a thousand dollars a week to write poems for them -- so I can pay off my past medical bills, get all the medical procedures done that I can’t afford right now and that will make me feel more healthy and alive, and get a car again so I can drive around like a normal human being, polluting Utah Valley and making a nuisance of myself with my kids by visiting them all the time. I had a good conversation with God about that; just stating simply and directly that I would really appreciate an editor from the NYT or Wall Street Journal calling me and offering me a vast amount of money for the privilege of printing and posting my poetry. I got no definite feeling one way or the other after I finished praying, but it felt good to get that off my chest. When I am called to account on the Day of Judgement I’ll just point out that I wanted to support myself and pay my bills on time and be of use to my family, and I prayed for help, but couldn’t get any celestial cooperation to be recognized as an accomplished writer of light verse -- and whose fault is that, hmmm? Why give a man some genius if you don’t give him the opportunity to make money with it? It’s only a torture without recognition and remuneration.
I made a good Polish soup for lunch, with lots of sausage, navy beans, potatoes, and sauerkraut -- which I spilled all over myself while watching a David Attenborough animal special on Netflix. And I had just finished doing my laundry -- so now I’ll have to do another batch tomorrow. It costs me a dollar-fifty to wash and dry one load.
I spent an hour watching Ray Walston in My Favorite Martian on YouTube as the evening deepened. How wonderful to think back to those long moronic evenings in front of the TV set, with the whole family watching inane fluff like The Beverly Hillbillies or Green Acres or My Mother the Car. If I got into my pajamas and brushed my teeth without being reminded too many times my mom would reward me with a bowl of chocolate ice cream, which I would let melt until I could literally drink it out of the bowl. That’s how I liked it.
Now I’ve got a DVD from the Provo Library I’m watching -- something called City of Bones. It’s a horror, sci fi, theological mashup that I’m only watching because my mind is closing down for the night and there’s lots of monsters in it. Put enough monsters in a movie and I can usually stay awake until almost 9:30 pm.
Well, dammit, I was hoping the pixies would come while I was writing this and do up the dishes, but the little pishers didn’t show up so I’m going to have to do them. I can’t stand leaving dirty dishes in the sink overnight. It gives me the creeps. So I’ll do a half-arsed job of washing and rinsing them. Oh, and I’ll brush my teeth. Maybe gargle with a little apple cider vinegar. Joom used to complain about my breath so much when I wanted to kiss her that I started gargling with white vinegar before each makeout session, and now I’ve switched to apple cider vinegar just because I have a big bottle of it handy in the pantry. Oh yeah, and I’ve got to take some papaya enzyme pills too -- they help with the morning bm.
So that’s my day -- take it or leave it. How was your day?
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