Existential Angst

My relationship with this stove is special, other than a piece of property or a vehicle, I'd never spent so much money on anything. And I trusted I could build a fire, pretty sure I could build one in the middle of nowhere with cow chips and a rock. I was on the brink of giving up, thought I might be losing it, and now I'm once again fairly confident I can live in a hostile environment. It's tenuous, the hold we have on reality. I'm good at this, but when it comes to the bottom line, not that good. I could live in a cave, under a pile of skins, but I wouldn't advance the cause, merely survive. I've been meaning to write a manifesto but simply living seems to occupy all my time. Birds, man, they spin me into the real, the ducks, the geese, a gaggle of crows, a peregrine falcon eating a pigeon. Never was anything more real. I know I shouldn't take anything seriously, but it unfolds before you. A trusted source of news and entertainment. Two pileated woodpeckers today, performing a comedy routine while I work on firewood. Everything ricked up and more dry Sycamore in the woodshed. I'll start cutting with the chainsaw tomorrow, but I couldn't bear the noise today, so I hand cut several days worth of Sycamore branches. Branch wood burns hot and long. Warm enough that I don't need a fire all day, 60 degrees, next to last day of November. Need to burn up the rest of the Wrack Show next month, to make room for serious winter wood in the shed. Feeling athwart myself today, walking around in a haze, another reason to not use the chainsaw. Nothing in particular, talked with the older daughter, Samara, yesterday, and I always mull over the years I've missed with her, them. I couldn't have played any differently, in hind sight. I tried living out there, within a couple of hours, but it was killing me. I dug my sanity back out of the rubbish bin by writing "The Cistern" in Virginia, while working on Thomas Jefferson's father's house, but I couldn't live there either, I didn't like the people, too busy. Never occurred to me to move to Florida, where the rest of my family has settled, I can barely stand to visit. Though I do like Miccosukee and that tribe there. I could have lived outside Iowa City, I love the country and the people, but I couldn't afford it. Because I'm a Navy Brat I had no trouble considering moving to a place where I knew no one, so the short list included Missouri, Arkansas, the drainage of the Niobrara in Nebraska, god, what a lovely place that is, but I'd have to have a very small place with triple-paned windows and insulated walls 2 feet thick. I could have left the country, but there's really no place I want to go. What I wanted then, what I still want now, is just a warm place to hole up, with a light, so I can read. Doesn't seem like too much to expect. You work hard your whole life, you deserve a watch. Now that you don't have to, you can keep track of time. I thought of a joke, when I got up to get a drink, and lost it. It concerned a watch and a bar, that's all I remember. It was a pretty good joke, I milked it, the dufus, I'm better than you would imagine. Pretty much what I'm used to, fucking ruts. I don't even bother steering the truck, put it in the ruts and let it rain. Hey, whatever works.