One day long ago you and I were riding in a car and you were driving of course and I had just been ranting about something that I probably didn’t care that much about and you had been patiently listening. We drove in silence for a few minutes and then I asked you what you were thinking about. You reacted to my question with suspicion, not because you were hiding something but because I had not asked you what you were thinking for many weeks. I often think of this event when I have failed to meet my obligations to someone, especially if my failure is an expression of a habit that I have formed.
For some reason I was thinking about these things today as I sat near a fire-pit on a large stone, wiping bright blood from my hands onto the dirt and grass. They were driving the backhoe around the house to collect the corpse and I figured someone would have to move her so I picked her up by all four feet and her four wounds like metal fingerprints moved along with us and I threw her body into the loader and that was when I walked away and sat down and I almost started laughing although I didn’t want to laugh at all. It was not what I thought I would be doing on my lunch break. I tried to be careful when carrying her but I ended up with bloodstains on my jeans anyway and so when I went back to work for my second shift on Labor Day I did it with the blood of a dog I liked on my clothes. Maybe it was necessary. I was not there when she was shot so I did not know. Anyway it was not actually my business. I do not know why I am telling this story.
I forgot to make my bed when I left for work this morning and so when I got back to my little room I stripped off my shoes and socks and shirt and the pants stained beyond repair and pulled the sheets tight and put a quilt at the foot of the bed. It is a fine quilt I suppose but mine is being repaired at the moment and no other quilt is satisfactory in comparison. When I decide to search for sleep tonight I will slide in beneath the sheets and toss the topmost sheet up in the darkness and wait for it to gently coolly fall on my body and that is not the same as having a good day but it is better than it could have been. I do not control the past, the present or the future, but I control the sheets. That is enough. It has to be. It is what I have.
For some reason I was thinking about these things today as I sat near a fire-pit on a large stone, wiping bright blood from my hands onto the dirt and grass. They were driving the backhoe around the house to collect the corpse and I figured someone would have to move her so I picked her up by all four feet and her four wounds like metal fingerprints moved along with us and I threw her body into the loader and that was when I walked away and sat down and I almost started laughing although I didn’t want to laugh at all. It was not what I thought I would be doing on my lunch break. I tried to be careful when carrying her but I ended up with bloodstains on my jeans anyway and so when I went back to work for my second shift on Labor Day I did it with the blood of a dog I liked on my clothes. Maybe it was necessary. I was not there when she was shot so I did not know. Anyway it was not actually my business. I do not know why I am telling this story.
I forgot to make my bed when I left for work this morning and so when I got back to my little room I stripped off my shoes and socks and shirt and the pants stained beyond repair and pulled the sheets tight and put a quilt at the foot of the bed. It is a fine quilt I suppose but mine is being repaired at the moment and no other quilt is satisfactory in comparison. When I decide to search for sleep tonight I will slide in beneath the sheets and toss the topmost sheet up in the darkness and wait for it to gently coolly fall on my body and that is not the same as having a good day but it is better than it could have been. I do not control the past, the present or the future, but I control the sheets. That is enough. It has to be. It is what I have.
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