Over

Good vacation. I think I’m having withdrawal symptoms from Dr. Pepper or English muffins. I shall miss the bath tub. Resolved: never to live without a bath tub again.

What else I miss: the trees. You can’t just go out and walk in a place alone with the trees here. Ironic since there are so many jungles. But near the populations it does not obtain. One wants old, great tall trees.

And the bookstores. Man, I need to be around bookstores and libraries and the books I like in English readily available.

I miss already the winter contrasts. The warm and the cold; the cold cups in the uninsulated cupboard, the warm neck and the cold nose, the steam and static.

* * *

On the way back we paused in Atlanta. Had breakfast and was satisfied. Walked in a fragrant neighborhood. Old oaks there, ponderosa pine, magnolias with their leaves still on. Generous country. Would not want to live there of a summer, but February there is pleasing.

Need to figure out how to live in New York City is what I need to do, or close enough to head down into it regularly might do. If you have Manhattan, you do not really need mountains.

* * *

Have mostly quit shaving. Never thought I could, but when I saw that in 1976 Solzhenitsyn had grown the mustache too I decided to quit shaving altogether, at least for now. That was pretty early on, for him. I hadn’t realized he had the mustache from 1976 on. Besides, the thing I have appears to be on its way to being fashionable. You see it quite a bit here, but then in the endless reruns of the Superbowl or something like they kept showing in the USA one of those chaps had it. That’s no good.

* * *

Is there such a form as a crippled sonnet? I’ve been working on something that is alternating tetrameter and pentameter lines. The final couplet is a bit hard to judge, you know?

Maybe I’ll have to invent the form.

* * *

Did not want to work at anything at all this morning. I think it has to do with returning to this country. Not keen on remaining anymore. Not that I want bathtubs and bookstores and sausage patties for breakfast inconsolably. But that it isn’t where I fit. Not a Spanish chap in final analysis. Give me English immersion. Must be in the context and among the possibilities of it, the literature inexhaustibly at hand.

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