Out High Windows.
Well, I've been feeling pretty pathetic today.
First and foremost, I completely wasted the day away. About the only productive things I did today were a) purchase a new toothbrush and b) sneak a cigarette that I could've lived without.
Honestly. Quitting is going to be a New Year's resolution, but I think it's more for show than anything. Does anyone honestly think I'll magically quit? Certainly not me. Oy. If only it weren't so amazing.
This brings to mind a snippet I heard today from some NPR thing written by David Sedaris on being a smoker in a non-smoker's world. He illustrated a few exchanges between himself and a few crazed neo-Prohibitionists that made me laugh and frown at the same time. Smokers know that their vice isn't innocent, but I think that because of this smokers are more humble and forgiving in their dealings with other people -- well, in American society today.
But enough philosophy.
I'm so incredibly ready for Friday that it's unreal.
Just had to interject that little thing.
Awkward pause.
Lame, lame, lame is certainly today's mantra.
OK. I'm going to leave this post with a poem. Maybe it will help clear this nasty mood I've developed.
"High Windows"
by Philip Larkin
When I see a couple of kids
And guess he's fucking her and she's
Taking pills or wearing a diaphragm,
I know this is paradise
Everyone old has dreamed of all their lives--
Bonds and gestures pushed to one side
Like an outdated combine harvester,
And everyone young going down the long slide
To happiness, endlessly. I wonder if
Anyone looked at me, forty years back,
And thought, That'll be the life;
No God any more, or sweating in the dark
About hell and that, or having to hide
What you think of the priest. He
And his lot will all go down the long slide
Like free bloody birds. And immediately
Rather than words comes the thought of high windows:
The sun-comprehending glass,
And beyond it, the deep blue air, that shows
Nothing, and is nowhere, and is endless.