The last few weeks I’ve been living the life I want to lead in retirement. Every day, I get up before everyone else to write and get the mechanism primed for the day ahead. Then, the phone takes my attention for a while before I go into the bedroom to read and fall asleep for the necessary and irreplaceable nap. After that, the day is mine for more reading, walking the dog, and thinking about the next day’s writing.
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When I hear people griping about the media, I hang my head and sign. The complaint makes no sense, particularly because those most loud about media faults are those who don’t question the capitalist marketplace in which media exist.
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I am a lazy man. Whether it be about working for a living or laboring around the house, nothing pleases me more than sitting in my chair, wondering if and when anything will get accomplished.
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Looking out over the crowd, my heart sank a little. I had advertised my poetry reading about as vigorously as I could, given that I don’t have an E-mail list anymore (new computer). But the crowd was small. Indeed, it filled the little space in the basement bar where we were reading. While I have few expectations for such events, better attendance would have been a boon to spirit.
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The anesthetist parted the curtain and came into the enclosure.
“It’s time for us to get you to the operating room and into surgery,” she said. “Are you all right?”
A couple of nurses in masks stood next to him. Everything seemed to be in motion.
“Do you think you could leave me here for another five minutes?” I said. “Actually, you could leave me here for the rest of my life.”
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