The Sea Shell
By Marin Sorescu
Translated by Michael Hamburger
I have hidden inside a sea shell
but forgotten in which.
Now daily I dive,
filtering the sea through my fingers,
to find myself.
Sometimes I think
a giant fish has swallowed me.
Looking for it everywhere I want to make sure
it will get me completely.
The sea-bed attracts me, and
I’m repelled by millions
of sea shells that all look alike.
Help, I am one of them.
If only I knew, which.
How often I’ve gone straight up
to one of them, saying: That’s me.
Only, when I prised it open
it was empty.
My Tuesday was a giant scream of frustration because my computer, which was originally my father's computer and is therefore eight years old, is suddenly having major issues particularly with the monitor and Dell is no longer providing any of the updates I may need to fix it (or it may be a hardware issue, in which case no BIOS download is going to help). None of my in-house or out-of-town tech experts could solve it. Plus, I am no longer at the beach and this is always an upsetting date.
I did get to hang out for a while with our neighbor and cat-sitter, catching up on things around the neighborhood, and I did get to eat the leftover hush puppies from Monday evening with fresh butter. Plus we caught up on the Succesion and On Becoming a God in Central Florida episodes we missed on Sunday and those characters have much bigger problems than I do. Here are some things at Sea Shell City in Rehoboth and the Seaside Country Store in Fenwick Island that I wish I had bought: