Retired

 May 24, 2026

Pentecost. Pickerel weed and black calla bloom in containers on the porch. Inches of water on the tops of containers that don’t drain well.

The retired faculty meeting plays in my head. Such a deal of Machievelli-ism to such insignificant ends. W is the particular case. After we were friends, he re-invented me as a bitter enemy, though I was never any such thing. There wasn’t enough substance to him either to fear or dislike very much. Yet of all people in my life (to my knowledge) he spent the most energy vilifying and slandering me. I think he thinks he got away with it that I don’t know, he greets me with such cordiality when we, accidentally, meet. His efforts from time to time crossed over from nuisance into actual evil. I wonder if he faces this truth? It was perplexing, and more flattering than he anticipated, that one would go to such lengths on my behalf, whatever the intention. I survived– it’s possible that everyone is as wise to him as I became and paid no attention. But there he is, a worm squirming into any hole that will hold him, playing for minuscule bits of influence. He has influence of a sort, in the form of concessions made to shut him up. He is also held in amused contempt by almost everyone I know. His friends protect him from knowledge of himself. Now that I’ve written that, I imagine that mine do the same for me. 

“Sunday Baroque” on the radio

Gigantic prose revisions all yesterday, probably continuing today.