Anger in the evening

Monday August 29, 2005

We have an arrangement, me and my legs. They hurt, and I let them. Mostly we follow our separate desires amicably. Sometimes they have to work at my bidding whether they like it or not. Now and again I have no choice but to suspend activity while they go through a hissy fit.

These past couple of days, they’ve had their way with me, climaxing yesterday and easing slowly today. I suspect I’ll bounce back tomorrow but today, well, it’s not been one of my best. There’s a weariness attendant upon constant pain, not to be over-stated, or allowed to dominate one’s life, but it is necessary to be realistic at times, and give the body time to repair and adjust.

So Dolly and I have done a lot of pillow consultation. She waits for me to wriggle and turn until I find a supportable posture, then she snuggles up and we drift away. Dolly works on the principle that no self-respecting cat needs an excuse for a good sleep. I work on the less noble maxim that you don’t hurt when you’re asleep. We get through.

It’s a little frustrating, though. I’d planned on a two or three day intensive house and garden cleaning project and now I’ve lost most of it. Hey ho. Tomorrow I go to Boston to deliver the letter sacking our present estate agent. I’m quite looking forward to that. It’s been a long time since I fired anyone.

 

Anger in the evening
 
“Are you burning a bonfire?” demanded
the red-faced man, full of grockled anger.
“My house is smoke-filled and my kids are choking.”
 
“Not guilty. Hate the things.”
“Try further along the lane.”
 
He drove away, still angry, filling
the evening with the sound of rubber
on asphalt, leaving me and the chattering
swallows to wait for the return of quiet.
 
 
John Bailey
Lincolnshire, August 2005

 

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