Good, I thought, I DID finally fall asleep.
Went on my walk.
Passed the house of the dead George and Elinor Schuler. How quickly they fall and are forgotten.
Hold on. Gotta refill my cup with cinnamon spice tea.
Not a drop of caffeine.
Last night I was up until, oh, 3 am, but being productive.
Reading my slim volume of Robert Frost poetry, with an intro by Louis Untermeyer.
When I looked up Frost I saw there was a continuing history of suicide deaths and schizophrenia in his family.
Frost himself was gonna drown himself in a bog. He and Virginia Woolf had a lot in common.
Ohhh, I was so sad last night.
Lonesome Ruthie. Who do I know? Who do I talk to?
Left two messages on Scott's phone this morning but that doesn't count.
LONESOME RUTHIE
The quality of mugginess
hard to describe
walking in a spider web
go go go
soon, like Jill, you'll
crown the top of the hill
and can sail all the way down.
For what?
To enter my yellow cocoon
and pretend life thrives here?
Get hold of yourself Girl
No one but the ghosts
of the ones who lived here
and believe me
they don't count
You're on your own
like everyone on their
death bed
On your own.
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