Saturday, August 20, 2016

Missing Summer



O.K.  Two nights ago there was a full moon.  I thought the cycle would end, but yesterday morning, walking through my bedroom, I hit my toes on the leg of a chair that has been sitting there forever.  There is plenty of room around it.  To hit my toe, I had to walk right into it.  I did.  And I broke my toe.  It is purple and points in the opposite direction that it did before I hit it.  It hurts.  It is swollen and ugly.  As much as it hurts, though, it doesn't hurt as bad as my daily pains--knees, hips, back.  It makes me realize something.

Many people must have it.

I am underwater at the factory.  There is a new union contract that I thought I would be cool with since I was one of the people who instigated the union drive before they made me management.  I am a proletariate.  I was happy about the contract.  What could go wrong.

Nothing.  Except being on the wrong side of the line.  It doesn't matter how much I don't care.  It is nothing but a pain in my ass.  It is more work.  Much more work.  And I. . . I am that other thing.

Jesus Christ with a popsicle.  What can you do?

Today begins my short little weekend stint.  I just slept ten hours.  I am beat.  Somehow, I have missed the summer.  I didn't go anywhere.  I didn't even go to the beach.  Not once.  Everywhere I look (in the N.Y. Times), there is nothing but summer fun.


Sorry, but I love that sort of thing.  I want beautiful days and dinners on the beach.  What I have is a weedy jasmine bed and dead plants in the pot garden on my patio.  I have, however, been wearing seersucker pants.  That, at least, is something.



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