Idiopathic

Waking up in the night, I'm sure it was a sound, but the sound's gone by the time I wake up. It's not an animal moving about, the leaves would tell. A single scream, like a cat, maybe the yip of a beagle. The house is warm, I started a fire so I could make an omelet, and I have the new heater blowing toward where I write. Not of sound mind. Sometimes the sensory information builds up, but it doesn't really make any sense, just a kind of white noise. Then someone throws lentils against an overturned pan and it all comes into focus. It's like, why didn't I see that before? The answer, of course, is because it was hidden, but I should have noticed, clearly there was someone behind the arras, that bastard. The demon for me, the devil, I've only read Hamlet a few dozen times, it's always Polonius. Say what you want. It's a new game after that. Sara and Clay left for southern climes at noon today, Thanksgiving with Liza and Liz in New Orleans, then Hilton Head for the winter, she pointed out some other Carter materials for me to look through while she was gone, scrapbooks and such. I'll be the only staff at the museum tomorrow, so I'll start looking through it. Being alone at the museum means staying in the offices, to field phone calls from the front desk. It'll be a perfect day for reading. Then Turkey Day off (I have my pot pie) and the yearly Houndog Harrison concert on Friday. Then three days off, so I went to the library and got a couple of things (Best Essays and Best Short-Stories from 2011) and took home a book on Bellows from the museum library. I've been bringing in food and juice and drink for the last several days, an extra pouch of tobacco, an extra sleeve of papers, a surprisingly interesting Gnarly Head cab. Still have some good beer from when Glenn and Linda were here. A conversation with Linda about the lack of support. Glenn came in from work, just as she was going to hang up, so I got to talk with him about the video, and sundry other things. I love talking with them both, the conversation is often elevated, nuanced. I crave that conversation, it's a mainstay. Nice image, mainstay: what holds something (me) vertical. Against the forces, right? and the forces can be severe. Imagine the worst scenario possible and multiply that by two, it becomes a design criteria. Very large cables anchored in bedrock. A hold in an execution would also be a stay, a week-end at a B & B on Cape Cod, a command to a dog to remain where it was. Late Middle English, staien, that's as far as I've gotten. Trying to track down a word, before the language was codified, is impossible; two grunts and a click. Drives me crazy. I can get slippery tonight, but tomorrow, I'm going to be invisible. Listen, a coyote in the night, such a lonesome sound.