Weds night
Finally got the car in for an oil change in Gilford today. Turns out the service manager, David, whom I’ve known for ten years now, is a big reader. He retains his courtly Tennessee accent too, a bit more mild every year. He loves McCarthy’s The Road. I told him to find a copy of Blood Meridien.
best passage from today’s reading from Pessoa’s Book of Disquiet
93 [174] 29.3.1933
How good to be all alone! To be able to talk out loud to ourselves, to walk about with nobody’s eyes on us, to lean back and daydream with no interruptions! Every house becomes a meadow, every room takes on the amplitude of a country villa.
All the sounds one hears seem to come from somewhere else, as if they belonged to a nearby but independent universe. We are, at last, kings. That’s what we all aspire to and, who knows, perhaps the more plebian among us aspire to it more eagerly than those with false gold in their pockets. For a moment we are the pensioners of the universe, existing on our regular incomes with no needs or worries.
