Something Lost

I think I lost a page, maybe I'm just out of order, but I sent another page, which wasn't the same at all. Clearly I need some instruction. What I try and do is just clear the decks. The gun-ports of British warships were painted red, so you wouldn't notice the blood. The Live Oak ribs of the USS Constitution were spaced two inches apart and she was planked with four-inch White Oak inside and out, cannon balls bounced off. The most incredibly stout frame I can imagine, built from wood. Now we can send a spent-uranium projectile through four inches of steel. Good for us. Woke up thinking about battle tanks and how all the bridges in Eastern Europe had been rebuilt to support their weight for the war that never happened. Made an egg on toast and brewed a double espresso, went on a word search, to divert myself from The Art Of War (manly though it may be, it is mostly a distraction) and ended up curled on the sofa looking at pictures, watercolors, mostly, Winslow Homer, Hopper. Last night, when everyone had left, I turned on the lights in the Carter gallery; I'd brought up a chair from the board room because my feet were aching, and I wheeled from painting to painting, looking at them from a different perspective. D had asked me about my plans for the weekend and I suspected I'd spend Sunday reading, and that I'd do laundry on Monday, then Tuesday brushing up on some facts, and Wednesday with the docents from Columbus. Probably have to take Thursday off. Friday have to set up for another event. It's a dance, even something as specific as the dart of a dragonfly, if you're paying attention. Otherwise, how, exactly, do you spend your time? I'm curious. I have a calendar, I make some notes, otherwise I pretty much let things float. A crude system. As long as there's a path to my back door, and I have the key, I'm not concerned about appearances; check for a rattlesnake below the step, hot foot it inside, get a drink, roll a smoke. A life constellated thus. Neither a bad thing nor a good thing, just a fact. Nothing makes any sense. When you catch me unaware.