Mid-August

Mid-August again. Course syllabi and book lists insinuate themselves into my consciousness. I welcome the structure come this time of the summer. The endless, and often hourless days begin to trouble me. Oh, that is not to say I don’t have writings and readings to do; I do. Of course, I do lack a sense of discipline which would hold me to the chair for longer periods of time—sometimes, I too soon lose patience with the writing, figuring that ‘later’ in the day I will return to the knot. Alas, it doesn’t happen often enough that I discover myself steeped back in the writing and thinking. I’ll get to it tomorrow.

What I dread in retirement is the idea that each and every day I would have to wake up and invent myself all over again. I couldn’t bear the burden. Is there no lack of a void?

With the opening of school, at least I am responsible to be certain places and at particular times and about which I can complain. Like Bartleby, I can say, “I know where I am.”

With the opening of school I start wondering if I really need new shoes. With the coming Fall, I am covered by an avalanche of Fall catalogs with all of those beautiful men wearing clothes which, if I wore, would never make me look like them. I count my ties, and check the frayed collars on the Oxford button-downs. I send my trousers to the cleaners.