You can tell a man who boozes by the company he chooses and the pig got up and walked away

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I have been distracted, disturbed, hell even a little demented. I have also been A slightly consumed by something I've always wanted to do, but never could justify, till now. I have, moreover, been Moving. This entails deconstructing and reconstructing a kitchen, throwing out all the planning, which is also something that, looks as if ,to have become a sick and twisted exercise in time wasting.

It is good theater, replete with the appropriate, seemingly sadistic props. It is all very very frustrating. There are a ton of underlying issues which make this all very tense. The best part of it all is all sides involved seem at fault, so there is no 1 to blame. Most of the summer seems wasted due to all this.
Bah
Is this going anywhere, no I’m venting for you all to see.

Here is a poem, I like, see how far down I have fallen!
Moving Day
by Ron Koertge
While sitting home one night, I hear burglars fiddling
with the lock. This is what I've been waiting for!

I run around to the back and open the door, invite
them in, and pour some drinks. I tell them to relax,
and I help them off with shoes and masks.

In a little while we are fast friends, and after a dozen
toasts to J. Edgar Hoover, they begin to carry things out.
I point to the hidden silver, hold the door as they
wrestle with the bed, and generally make myself useful.

When they get the truck loaded and come back inside
for one last brandy, I get the drop on them. Using Spike's
gun, I shoot them both and imprint Blackie's
prints on the handle.

Then I get in the van and drive away,
a happy man.

"Moving Day" by Ron Koertge, from Making Love to Roget's Wife: Poems New and Selected. © University of Arkansas Press, 1997.