Bucket-Wringer

The Deputy looking through a catalog of cleaning and packing supplies was attracted to a bright yellow plastic Bucket-Wringer, I pointed out that our old metal one was fine by me and that I did the mopping. These little turf matters are always interesting. Waiting in D's office for him to him up a design project and pick up an old copy of Wooden Boat and there's a very good chart called, I love this, Percent Strength Reduction In A Beam Due To Knots. It was a good chart in terms of information but very elegant, took a while to learn to read it, but came away with the shocking information that a five and a half inch beam with a one to two inch knot near the center and in the center (not an edge knot) can reduce strength as much as 55%, 35% for an edge knot. Another thunder storm, no lightning, but I may have to go. Damn, wanted to write and this is the only way I can work anymore, on the screen, accreting mass. Leaves are inside out, dark early, stuff is growing at a frightening pace. Wrote that one book, "54 Views Of Lone Cone" using a tape recorder and nearly got arrested for rolling a cigaret when I pulled over to look up a word at a wide spot, in the unabridged I carried in the truck. But the transcription part was hell. I'm not even a decent typist and I'm easily distracted, which is fine, working this way. Distraction is my middle name. I get up twenty or thirty times, writing one of these paragraphs, and mumble incessantly. It's not pretty. I do things with my hands between words, flutter the fingers, playing notes on the air. I squirm. The seat of my writing chair is flaking, vinyl, need the orphan chair from the basement at the museum, it's Shit Brown, but not worn, and just like the one I have, vinyl over metal, pads on the arm-rests, uncomfortable seat. Explained to the Deputy today that I needed to be a little bit uncomfortable and maybe a little bit hungry, almost never dirty though, strangely. I often shave before I write, if I haven't that day, take a sponge bath. Go figure. I got up, just then, for another drink, rolled a smoke, then walking back over to my desk, sat down on my heels, asquat, and looked at the damned chair for several minutes, fifties modern, absolutely functional. Raining harder, might get me another day off though I need the hours to pay the bills. Still, I'd take the day off, given a choice. Which I may give, as is my nature. What's the word, benevolent, that might describe my position. I'm me after all, did any of you earn less than $13,300, as a Single Head Of Household, last year? Paying child support? I play this game close to the edge, I learned from a Tunisian, Janitor College, who could mop. He would sling his mop into corners, pulling back at just the right point, so that he kissed the baseboard. He was good, could have made the Big Leagues but he blew out his knee and ended up in Ironton, a back-up shortstop. I can't not invent, give me a clue. Significant information seems exchanged, what we thought we meant. Raining hard, I'd better go.