Sidetracked

Last week, Barb, former owner of the pub, was at the store, and asked me what was up. I told her my body was wearing out (she's had a hip replaced) and she knew just what I meant. She has some remodeling at her place she wants to talk with me about. Work I could do at my own pace. For now I just want to take time off, think about things, be quiet, read, take walks, listen to the blues. I'm often the most fully engaged when I seem completely disconnected. I was listening closely to Anthony, observing his body language, thinking about how oblique that stage or screen we assume as reality, in the moment, really is. Ephemeral. Jesus, I was vacuuming some cob-webs recently, it had to be done, there was a fire danger, and I had the thought that major cob-webs could serve as a method of factoring time. That if we went deep enough into the caves, into the nooks and crannies, where the cob-webs were thick and undisturbed, we might piece together a time line, a history. A record trapped in a filigree. Something about that interests me, that we could be dated by crap that accumulated in the corner. I think it's probably Friday, not that it matters, but I had decided, days ago, that I'd go down and get the mail on Friday or Saturday, maybe go into town, pick up a few things, just because I could. I'm operating here as a free agent, worth almost nothing on the open market.