For an unknowable reason I needed glass after glass of water. The mouth and throat seemed insatiable—unsatisfied for numerous moments, frequent returns to the faucet for more, always more.
• Experiencing one of those blank moments, when the page controls the flow of consciousness. That is, the blank page overwhelms, results in a blank mind. Too obvious a connection? Perhaps. But the day developed along a typical mundane path: Visited church service. Drove to the grocery store. Had lunch with my folks. Graded papers at school for a few hours. Read the newspaper after dinner. So, now, a weighted irritation lowers over me. An expectation I suppose. How to become more aware of the time? That fragmentary element which pulses loudly one moment. Then lies silent. • For three or more days my grandmother’s wall clock has been stuck at three. Every so often I step up to wind it for another series of hours—but something distracts me from finalizing the thought: phone call, secondary chore, the cat whining in the hall. • Burgundy red pears. Violent color in the market. Luminous. Amorphous patterns hulking in their crates. Cycles of repetition. Poems unto themselves.
• Brendan rubbed both of his hands across my three-day-old beard— rubbing the unshaven white burr of hair into a static notion. Don’t shave this, he said. Then laughed. • In the fold of my arm, a bruise expands. Dark purple stain. • The light on the front porch blinds, spills over into the bedroom. Glaring presence. Insistent message.
Nurses had drawn blood for routine tests for an end of the year follow-up. Despite the causal nature of it all, the necessity irritates.
—so, now, a weighted irritation lowers over me.