An Accounting
By Brett Fletcher Lauer
In this room, hours pass, a slight
corruption of each previous
allotted time block—and probably
confirm failure and humiliation,
which though not ideal, I accept
as historically accurate. I’m sick
of lifestyle music, the thing between
awe and detachment which Hazlitt
defines as adrift. I clear my throat
remind myself, doors are locked,
the ashtray half-full. Unless otherwise
noted, light falls from the television—
accompanies night, any available
other-worldly knowledge. What else?
I’m unhappy even at the edge of rivers,
conversations regarding weather,
any manner of appointment. All comfort
requires another voice. Ditto delusion.
For instance, these shadows imposed
from trees bent by wind and other forms
of predictive behavior, may or may
not contain consciousness. I’m still
working it out. A glass of water grows
warm. I have done terrible and middle
class things for money. This is not
necessarily an acceptable conversation.
Things are good. The serotonin
reuptake inhibitor fades another winter.
If there are things we need, there are
things we need less. I face the mirror
to say it again with feeling. Understand
this is me applying myself.
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On Tuesday I started to tackle my boxes of Tarot and playing cards, which I know sounds like it shouldn't be a big deal, but I have hundreds of them and they were packed randomly from the various bookcases in my old bedroom, so sorting them and figuring out where they should go on shelves is a Project! It was another gorgeous day, low 60s with big puffy clouds, windows open, boats drifting by on the lake.
In my disorganization, I was a bit late for my Voyager group, but I saw most of "11:59" anyway. We took a walk again to Idylwood Park, dinner was tacos, then we watched the last couple of episodes of Schmicago, which I loved -- season 3 had better be Les Schmiserables or Schmevita. Things people do at Idylwood, including painting, boating, swimming, gender reveal and birthday parties, and playing in sand:
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