Bathwater

Saturday November 25, 2006

A bit like fumbling around in the bath, looking for the bar of soap I know is there somewhere, I’m still fumbling around looking for the loose ends I dropped a few days back when I was took poorly. Now and then I find one, only to drop it again as I reach for the next.

What’s a poet to do? Observe and record the fumblings, that’s what. Chances are that by the time you get bored with it you’ll be back on an even keel once more.

Leastways, that’s the theory.

Today I had the most perfect of chores to occupy me. Laundry. Stuff the machine, set it going, and settle down to doze for the one hour and fifty-eight minutes it takes to do a full load. Haul it out, stuff it in the dryer, set that to going, stick another load in the washer and there you are, free to doze for another couple of hours, give or take.

I got through four loads today, working and snoozing like that. The new slatted shelving in the laundry room is heaped with fresh-washed linen as a glowing testimonial to my industry, and my slowly clearing upper respiratory tract is a reference to the equal degree of industry with which I have applied myself to the task of the snooze.

Here, at the end of the day, I suspect I could reach for and pick up two or three of those loose ends, were I to apply myself to the search. Darn ’em. Let ’em sit in the bathwater and soak until the morning. I’ve earned my sleep tonight and I intend to enjoy it.

 

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