I know, I know, I know.
I've been feeling really disloyal to this page, which was the first of my many internet pages, leaving it unattended for such a long time. It used to be that I made a couple of entries here a day--though sometimes I wrote a little too readily back then, and should have practised a little more self-censorship.
But I've not been flirting with another woman, so to speak. In fact, I've been doing very little, except working. Getting up in the frozen dark of pre-dawn, trundling off twelve miles on the bus, shooting my wad (again, so to speak) for 8 or 12 hours depending on my shift, trying to do a decent job in exchange for my wage, coming home again to drink wine and go to sleep early for the next early rise.
I've written a couple of poems (posted on my MySpace page), but nothing stellar. I come damn near sometimes to forgetting I am a poet--which perhaps says more about me and my lack of dedication than the circumstances I'm in. To remind myself I read Ezra Pound on the bus in the morning. Nobody lived with a more single-minded purpose than old Ezra.
Anyway, the business of looking for a new place to live is out of the way, and I've got three weeks holiday coming up after three o'clock tomorrow, with nothing much to do except make the final preparations for my move on March 1st; so maybe the Poet will have a chance to stake his ground again in that extra breathing space I'll have.
We'll see, as your parents used to say when you suggested something they didn't want to do.