something like geography

I have not received one piece of mail in the last three weeks. Not a single piece of mail. Not a post card from Haiti or Copenhagen or San Luis Obispo, not an invitation to join the resurrected Yippie Party, or a donation ask from Public Television. Not a phone bill, not a Medicare bill, not even a ‘this-is-not-a-bill bill.’

And now, the above fallen out from my swiss-cheese’d mind, I do remember one piece of mail. One single piece. A letter, a postmark from Chino, CA, inside a check far beyond the selling/shipping price for my book “Ring Around the Rosy,” which I may have mentioned here. See! I am popular.

I’m often teeter-tottering on the oh-so-thin-rail between being left alone and pretty much entirely ignored, and my not cultivating in any way the ever-blooming garden of human connection. Barely a hoe’s slight ziggy-zaggy drag through that rich loam.

(Sigh)

Makes me think of Dylan – “Oh, Mama, can this really be the end. To be stuck inside of Mobile with the Memphis blues again”