13. Being a Writer

I am reading Hitchen’s essays on my morning walk. These essays are on the somewhat exotic locale of Pakistan and the region. He just does a first-person account of his meetings with the big names and his reflections on the big issues, of colonialism and the war on terrorism. He knows history like our geeks know everything about Harry Potter or Star Wars.

And I feel like my life is an entire waste. Here I am just writing about homelife with Pop and the cats, telling of elephant ears and cinnamon rolls and how prettily the wind chimes sound. You would think that the least I could do is to write this down in rhyming meters. But, no, that is beyond me too. My life has been free from the grind of wage-labor, but for nothing more noble or meaningful than to amuse myself and wile away the hours of my pointless days. Yet I do enjoy it. I just wish that my life could have been more.

14. Pop and Ms. Walker

I overheard Pop on the phone, figuratively twisting Kay's arm to come here. He does not want to go there. He says, “I have all the conveniences here!” Naturally I resent this move to lessen the quality of my life. But this evening, as I take over ‘the office’ for my after-dinner blogging, I see that Pop has a new photograph on his desk. It is of him and her. They are all dressed up and looking rather middle-classy. Pop is even wearing a necktie. They both seem quite content and smiley. Pop couldn’t be happier nor more proud, with his arm around his woman. And I cannot help but feel that I should do all I can to help them be happy together. Nevertheless, I am not a saint. Surely they can be happy without unduly discomforting me.