I recently watched a film version of Eugene O’Neill’s The Iceman Cometh that was four hours long. And it dragged too. That man sure held a bitter view of the world. All of the characters in the play are deluding themselves with fantasies about the things that they could do to raise themselves out of the dump they are in. It got me wondering about what pipe-dreams I feed myself, and if I’m truly happy or I’m just deluding myself.

Of course, I’m not truly happy about moving all of my stuff from my old place to the new place.

The more I pack
The more is left
Or so it seems to me.
My aching back
With every heft
Complains quite painfully.

Back to it.