3/8 My table is a mess, half of it is strewn with debris of daily life, the other half I keep clear as good as i can, but there’s always like ten or even twenty items in that supposedly clear area, a glass of water, a mug of coffee, also my metal box of medications, black, with the lid that shifts in such a tight and satisfying way to reveal the contents, my anti-seizure meds that I need to take twice a day, and some other pills in the third compartment that I keep silent about because they have to do with my age. Also, one of my Leathermans, the Signal which I had on our trip in the Grand Canyon, and which I later sought to replace with a Charge because I wanted scissors that the Signal sadly lacks. And yet I keep the Signal, in its tactical green, because what would you do with it other than keep it, and it’s just so satisfying to have it around. The felt case of my headset, of which I have two, one here in Manhattan and one in Newburgh, so I don’t have to carry one back and forth between the places. Reading glasses, two of my three pairs are right here on the table.

People who are itching to talk to me, such as the man who is at the pool in Newburgh every morning, he is an embodiment of the desire to talk, and I have to use all my energy to make it abundantly clear, by looking intensely in a direction away from him, probably with a fearsome frown, that I do not want to talk. He still cannot help but ask whether “that bathing suit” which I’m wearing “does not bother me swimming laps”. I’m having a lot of fun wearing those swim briefs, as I would call them, they hit exactly the right spot for me of being a little too daring, but not so much that it makes me feel vulnerable, and I take pleasure telling him that it’s all for additional speed in the water.