Translation

I'm read in France now, too. Strange thought. It's difficult enough translating me into English. Rodomontade, roister, rotund. Surcease, susurration, svelte. Down in my back (hurts like the Dickens (what does that phrase mean?)) but at least I know what caused it. I was leaning over a pile of books to close my writing window, felt that little tear in a muscle and knew there would be hell to pay. Hyper-extended. A little patter of rain had started and I didn't want to short-out my Black Dell. She's sensitive. All that time alone, wondering what I'd ask of her next. It can't be comfortable. Not knowing. From past experience I extrapolate that the pain is transitory, and I just shouldn't lift anything for a couple of days. There an equation that defines this, horizontal extension over vertical lift, the weight doesn't matter that much, it's all about 'position' or form, maybe, rather, a kind of yoga pose, The Corpse, where you pretend to be dead. Not listening to the chatter is a big part of it. If you exclude the external world, even for a few seconds, what you're left with is yourself, not always a pretty picture, but the remainder, nonetheless. Rain deer, remorselessness, retroactive. With Levi-Strauss it's always triplets, I'm not sure what they mean, but it's always the case. Flaunt, fledged, fleer. Anile, animus, anserine. Maybe there's a pattern, I'm hard-pressed to say. I do sense a connection, as if there was a relation I was supposed to see, but I don't get it. Ineffable, ineluctable, inexorable. Sure enough my back is shot in the morning, it's not the standing or the walking, it's the transition from sitting to standing that really hurts, the bending and squatting. I'm not much use, at the museum, cleaning up after an incredibly messy event. The bathrooms are horrible and the floor in the main gallery looks like there was a beer fight, and something was served at the dinner that I can't identify, clear and very sticky. I'll clean this up. because no one else will, even if it takes a few days. D could do it easily, but his time is better spent elsewhere, TR wants no part of it. I'm still the go-to janitor of choice, a default position. Oh fuck, is that vomit? Tom will get it. Usually I'd enjoy this shit, going to the hardware store, stopping by the university, but my back hurts and each of these stops is in and out of the truck and the physical movement causes me to cry, hurts Big Time, not a Little League pain. It's exhausting, hurting like this. I use up all of my reserves just closing up, getting home. I had to stop at Kroger, for whiskey and juice, I limped around like the cripple I was, and when I got home, and finally achieved verticality, leaning against the side of the truck, swearing like a sailor, staggered to the house like a drunk on a three-day binge. Self-medicated and assumed the fetal position. You'll probably feel better in the morning, I remember thinking. Pain is a touchstone. Your own ability to deal with that. I'd rather not, but if I have to.