Rake's Progress

I don't think of myself as a rake, or as a pervert either. I will admit to that thing about ankles, though it seems to me more like a birder's life-list. I don't have a social agenda, or even what most people would call 'a life', I just bumble along, letting most things slide. Today, though, I put my shoulder against that great wall of inertia I've cemented into place. I work at the museum, I read and write, maybe I spend an hour a day doing other things, personal hygiene and eating. Cooking, of course, but I'm usually either reading or writing while I'm doing that. Heaven forbid I should ever have a hobby other than foraging, which I usually do in slow transit going somewhere to do something. But today I spent an hour buying the necessary materials for re-insulating the half of the floor the goddamn dog de-insulated. Off my ass and get it done, I need to restore creature comforts, this fucking winter-camping INDOORS is for the birds. The new insulation system for the crawl space is a three step program. The first step is loosely fitting fiberglass batts into place. These joists are very deep (I always over-build) so then there is an air space, then a piece of very dense two-inch foam is suspended on four-penny nails; then the edges are sealed with expanding foam. Bomb proof. On a roll. Everything up the driveway safely; and what with normal three-day weekend supplies, I make seven trips to the truck. I still park 100 yards away, because I need to drain those goddamn puddles and haul in some fill. That's next on my list. The truck is dying and I can't even think about that until after the first of the year, even then I can only spend six or four thousand dollars on something I need to drive (for) fifty thousand miles. Most days I drive 34 miles, when I drive at all, to the museum and back. I should probably being doing this on a bicycle, right? if I was serious. Does that mean I'm not serious? Just asking because water is coming in over my boots and I need to seek higher ground. No, and no again, I don't like being put in that position where everything you say is wrong. Fuck a bunch of cops. I'd rather "float like a bumble-bee" if that was an option. Not be too attached, I get that. What about the way you feel? Assume nothing is secure, where does that leave you?