Work on the new book creeps along with renewed problems, because of continued frustrations with the new Mac. I was tempted to suspend this blog until further notice, then decided I could manage to do the post below instead. But I may yet have to suspend it, until the worst problems are resolved.
"Don't know what'll come tomorry and don't care one God damn, sir." -- Union soldiers, 1864.
For a clue as to why this so bothers me, see my poem "Neatnik," published online in Blue Lake Review, December 2019.
Though not usually given to outbursts of rage toward others, as opposed to rage toward God, nature, gravity, destiny, Karma, and myself, I have occasionally felt a surge of anger. Once, when talking on the phone to a male insurance rep about some complicated matter, in exasperation I muttered to myself, “Jesus Christ…!” (I get very religious when angry). The rep immediately announced, “Profanity is not necessary.” His comment enraged me. To my regret, gentility prevailed, for I didn’t shout at him the thought that surged in my mind: “Sir, that remark was not intended for your ears, but since you choose to comment, I will tell you that, if I want to use that kind of language, I fucking well will!” Later, I was surprised by the intensity of my anger. So we are all capable of rage.