Still Hurting

Setting up for the auction on Sunday, hauling boxes from the basement and the third floor. Debilitating. I had to rest between rounds, but we got it done, and D agreed that I could leave an hour early. Stopped at Kroger and laid in supplies, sushi, steak, potatoes, humus, avocados, juice, whiskey. Went to the library and got the new Thomas Perry, "Poison Flower" and there's a New Yorker in the mail box when I get home, so I'm set on reading material. Because yesterday was payday, I bought a piece of nice double-cheddar and a jar of sweet pickles, half-a-pound of sliced roast beef and a box of saltines. I eat a box, four 'tubes' of these, a month. I sometimes line up ten of them, smeared with mayo, a slice of cucumber on top, a sprinkling of salt and pepper, and walk around, eating them. One of my favorites is half a sardine, a squirt of spicy mustard, and a pickled round of jalapeno pepper. Yes, you do know what I think about what I say before I say it. Key to something we won't talk about here. Because I don't have the energy, this back shit has sapped me of my energy. I just want to lie down, go to sleep, wake up better. Fuck a bunch of pain. Ironically, I got a call right then, from a Canadian drug company, though the actual call was from China, offering me pain killers or whatever I might desire. I always ask them what the weather is like there, wherever they might be, to break the ice, so we can talk like human beings. Weather is a great common denominator. We all have it. I'm not used to being this exhausted. Pain exacts a toll. I fell asleep on the sofa, again, dreamless; awoke to a good soaking rain, after three in the morning. Get a drink and roll a smoke, put out a couple of pickle buckets to collect water. Collecting water strikes me as a slightly bizarre venture, but I need wash water. For weeks I've been carrying in a gallon a day, from the Kroger water station, 39 cents, my container, enough for coffee, a shave, and a sponge bath, but I already have gallons of extra water, and I'm planing a full-scale bath, with bells and whistles. Rhea left a container of 'Hello Kitty' body wash. I'm good to go. I plan to scrub off an entire layer of skin. Dirty skin, tarnished with layers of living. I wish I had a cowboy hat, so I could compete in the real world. Of course, the goddamned phone is out and I can't send. I talked with a Frontier Telephone guy working at the large junction box out on Route 125 and he said they were aware of the problem, the dead trees that could, and do, regularly, take out the line; but there are only five residences in the six miles that trunk line services. Low priority. Easier just to patch the damage, and cheaper than taking down hundreds of trees. I could probably get a satellite package but then I'd probably buy a TV and watch that instead of reading. I have an addictive nature and I don't want to start watching TV. Next thing you know I'd be watching all the episodes of "Lost" and I don't want to go there. I'm comfortable (not right now) with this particular life-style: hiking in, carrying water, intermittent services; people leave me alone and I don't get into trouble. Human interaction often leads to trouble. You get drunk and wake up in someone else's bed. Without your toothbrush. How embarrassing is that? I maintain a vow of selective celibacy. It's amazingly effective, I haven't gotten laid in months.