Oh, help resign me!

Oh, help resign me!

That’s not a command (nor even a petition); that’s me realizing what this book, writing in it, could help to do.

And, after all, it could.

Well, cinco of May, and I want to write about how, how how

how unwilling I have been these midnights & mornings. And to figure out why. (I don’t consider “depression of spirits” an answer. No, nor even “age”). How about:

Because my joints hurt.

Because everything connected with—or to—my joints hurts.

Because my connective tissue hurts.

And also other nameless parts. Now & then.

Because I don’t think it will get better as long as I live, but only worse.

Because I look ugly. So—the physical.

But also

Because nobody loves, nobody appreciates me (And the feeling’s mutual.)

Because my apartment is small & ugly.

Because stupid people yell outside

Because I don’t have enough money to travel or anybody to go with.

Because I don’t have enough money to buy clothes, so I have to wear ugly old things.

Because I’m not getting any

Any what? Anything I want: amusement, inspiration, some answers. Some really good questions.

Because I don’t have a cat.

Because I can’t draw.

Because I can write, but not well.

Because it’s going to get slowly worse until I [die] (shhh).

15^th Ave «B’s 5/5/04

Now I’m Getting Nowhere

Having to listen to guy-drag squishy Sue & the fuzzy bald guy talking/arguing about school discipline. I can’t relate.

*

You know what happened today? Nothing. Well, I shuffled the Dave-goes-to-sleep section of unfinishable novel & held my head in defeat. (Maybe tomorrow—I optimistically set the pages by the computer.) I got a rejection—not one I care about. I found out FSP’s C. Lake # is disconnected. And I had no emails. Marian didn’t call me back. Well, that’s not bad news.

I read E. Waugh’s diary. Where he says things like: “A Scotsman covered w/ blood came to dig the pond.” And I smile. Yes. I should write sentences like that.

*

Women of a certain age walk by & give me fishy looks. I’m starting to get tired of it. The sky is parti-colored: blue & gray & white. No rain this week. Yet.

15^th Ave «B’s 5/6/04

What’s Left

What’s left, now that I don’t go springing off the springboard of my lusts—or smacking flat into the vault horses of my glandular reversals—what’s left is Reaction. When something good happens, I’m Happy, when something good doesn’t happen, I’m…mad more than sad. Only sorry that I don’t do anything about all this lack. (If I were a good monkey, would more good things happen? I suppose the idea of monkey is that you go make things happen.) But the He-monkeys got ahold of it way back & sent it off in the wrong direction. We do the best we can. That’s all we can do. Frankly, my dear, it’s not enough.

And so we go off the rails.

See, I’m a reactionary

Nursing? Early childhood education? No, too late. Too little. Too literal.

Damn letters. Too abstract.

Think I can think my way out of this one?

15^th Ave «B’s 5/8/04

Those Old Questions

Like: Why anguish? It has much to do with being pent. I need more space & I need a door outside. It has to do with insufficient physical work, insuff. input: Too much mind, not enough skin.

Or fur. I need a cat. Two or 3 babies to teach songs would be OK if someone else would feed em. But a cat amuses itself (& you/me) or sleeps. Bigger house though. I need more scope, simple.

Without it, with what I have instead, I fall into anguish, agitation and—ideas of suicide.

There’s probably a history to this…to do with a short fuse (born that way) followed by nearly perpetual thwarts (older siblings) & then the maternal rug-pull-out when mom got sick & went away, leaving me with thwarting sibs & dangerous (large, hairy, unsympathetic dad). By 7 I reacted to some rebuke by whacking myself with a sand shovel hard on the side of the head. Yeah, my 1^st suicide attempt.

Would I be better off dead? Well, no. …but I don’t think I’d be worse off. It’s just getting over that particular hurdle. Yeah, set it up at the edge of the Grand Canyon & it won’t much matter if I catch my foot…

But, then I walked out into the sunshine of a perfect May day. Big blue clouds over there, and even a tinge of…heavenly gray. Pleasant words with Seattle (my baker/Lotto man) & out on Broadway to see extremes of the yea & nay of views. (Yin/Yang)) Belle & laïd, in all its infinite variations. —and sun waxing the street-tree leaves silver & black. The sky above. I avoid that vile spitter. A red-faced looney calls me Mom.

Well, really, I want to live forever. I want to see how it all ends, to be the one to turn off the lights. & shut the door. But in the meantime, I’d like a better apartment & a cat.

15^th Ave «Bs 5/9/04