Berkley Morning

 Berkley morning after a strange night's sleep.  I slept fine in a slanting camper van, but here in an expensive B&B, I wake too often.  I am thinking about home.  I am thinking about all the promises I've made myself that I know I'll never keep.  I'm thinking about the factory.  I'm thinking about the past and how poorly the present stacks up against it.  I am, I know, too much alone. 

Have you read "Winesburg, Ohio"?  Oh. . . if you haven't, there it is.  Anderson never wrote like that again, but there for a moment he held the secret of the universe.  I warn you--it is a quiet revelation, soft as goose down.  If you like loud, exciting things, don't go near it.  If you want something to distract you from your own life, don't read it.  But if you want twisted desires and hand-holding sweetness in a slow, nuanced style, something you will think of years later in the same way you remember your grandmother reading fairy tales to you when you were an infant. . . run, don't walk, to the nearest bookstore. 

That could be a long run, of course.  Even here in Berkley, there are few bookstores to run to.  Moe's on Telegraph Hill is still open and is good if you like used books.  Books Inc. opened up on 4th Ave, a smaller version of the Cody's that closed.  Other things have changed as well. 

And I am up today reading the news, something I've not done in over a week.  Wish I hadn't today.  I may stop completely.  My reading it makes no difference.  I learned in Civics class so many years ago that it was important to read the papers and keep myself informed.  I have, but I'm not so sure it has done anyone any good.  It seems as important now as keeping up with professional sports.  The league, the team owners, the players, and the sponsors make the decisions and keep on making the money.  The rest of us opine around the water cooler about what might have happened if Johnny hadn't fumbled the ball or if the Blue Devils had gotten a new coach.  It just doesn't make a difference in how the season turns out, though many people hate one another for wearing the wrong team jersey. 

When the fans riot, though. . . well, there's something. 

What the hell did I miss in London?  I haven't figured that out yet. 

And apparently the amount of money I am worth has changed a bit since I went into the wilderness. 

And mean, hateful  people have been killing again.  It's enough to make you wonder. 

Last day in Berkley and my breakfast is awaiting me.  I think I will go sit on the cool porch in my sweatshirt and eat my fill.  And I'll try to get my head back on.