While I won’t say that I insist on winning at all cost, I certainly resile from being mistreated or poorly treated. Regrettably my sense of fairness is distorted by what must to some appear to be a deep-seated psychological defect or inadequacy (you know, the sort of paranoia which attends people who have a “massive inferiority complex” or maybe even just a childish incapacity to accommodate criticism of any scope or degree).
October 2, 2016
Hello, Michael!
I don’t expect you to read this (literary composition “The Toothbrush”) in its entirety but it might at least qualify as bathroom literature.
Bill
PS Some time when you’re feeling especially enthusiastic I would value a summary of your religiosity (I use that horrid word because I want to avoid ascribing a strictly traditional gloss to your thinking although I am of course prepared to hear that you are a traditionalist if such is the case).
It required but a breath of cool air and a whiff of wood smoke to unhinge me from the verdancy of Summer and to plunge me into the unbridled commotion of autumnal sensations. If nothing else it is a reminder of the renewed pleasure of the seasons.
If I were to size up the sum of my life it would oddly consist predominantly of a collection of things, ideas and people from which and from whom I have purposively withdrawn. What in many instances were once the objects of focus, direction and desire have all but vanished from view, discarded as so much errant surplusage It is in part testimony to my fickle passions. It also captures a paradox of living.
It is both natural and inevitable that as one ages and disengages from the traffic of everyday life, one becomes increasingly reclusive and generally avoids involvement in anything but the most private undertakings. In spite of this irrevocable declension I have never resisted a proposal to visit a private or public art gallery. The fine arts inspire me and few are more provocative for their imaginative, aesthetic, or intellectual content than the work of Diana Thorneycroft.
Rigid and painful, intermittently arising from the dampened bed clothes. Changed my T-shirt for the third time. Late getting up again this morning, after ten o’clock. Spent the entire night rocking left then right, staring at the iPhone’s white light in the bathroom, finally at 7:00 am falling asleep through sheer exhaustion, encumbered by disturbing thoughts which I can never recall. What a dreadful time to start the day! The lost time cannot be recovered!
We have a number of issues tormenting us. Some are important medical matters; others are just annoying mechanical stuff. My tolerance of unresolved agenda has never been good. My imagination works overtime to compound the concerns. And it doesn’t help that at the grocery store this afternoon the elderly Cheese Lady recounted her story of being scammed out of $2,000 yesterday, poor thing!
By the admission of the concierge or maître d’ of almost any 5-star hotel the standard of apparel is now virtually unrestricted. We’ve seen a couple in the main dining room of the Carlyle in matching designer sweat pants and top (and another – Robert Downey, Jr. in fact – wearing a baseball cap at table); people in blue jeans in the main dining room of the Jekyll Island Club; shorts everywhere at the Plaza including the Palm Court. The truth is, if the hotels want the business, they’ll take what they get. Besides I know of no one who travels with black tie. By design the intention of travellers is to wear strictly what is comfortable and easy to launder on the run. Similarly if a place imposes a dress code it is more likely to be avoided (though possibly the deference persists on upscale charter cruises which cater to an older crowd).
No doubt you take pride as I do in the possession of certain quality things such as crystal decanters, bronze sculpture, oil paintings, brass lamps, mantle clocks, sticks of mahogany furniture, Persian rugs, sterling silver flatware, bone china, jewellery and even more personal items like spectacles. Have you, however, considered a toothbrush?
Not often have I the pleasure of a do-nothing day, a day when my calendar is completely empty and there is nothing remotely urgent or pressing. An unqualified do-nothing day is one when I can’t imagine doing anything at all. It’s akin to a vacuum, a day which is recognizable for its utter lack of imperative. As an ardent existentialist I find the absence of an agenda slightly unsettling though I balance this knee-jerk paranoia by recalling that too often there is lots going on and nothing happening. Our punishing addiction to activity is at times irresponsible.