Doing Things
What I did this weekend. Watched a sunset. Watched it rain. Listened to music. Visited with friends. Thought about my two boys having a weekend together. Slept late. Fed the cats. Made plans. Talked about the missing. Talked about the living. Drove a back road. Simple things. The pleasures of life.
Now it’s on to the other things of life. Bills. Taxes. Shopping. Cleaning. Vacuuming. Dusting. Painting. Mending. Washing. Tidying. In the end, I guess they’re also pleasures, of a sort. Because when all is said and done, if said and done, there’s a sense of accomplishment and control. All that’s required is a little money and a little energy. Of course, both can sometimes be hard to come by, but that’s a story for another day.
Meanwhile, my story goes on, and I suppose I am measuring out my life in coffee spoons, although unlike Mr. Prufrock, this is not a life the poet will tell. Although perhaps the poet has already told it and I’m simply living it. In either case, I’m trudging on, and perhaps someone will explicate it all for me at some point, although mostly we’re left to our own devices to make sense of things because all the English majors had to get real jobs.