the art of losing
I don't understand where a whole journal entry could go. I didn't delete it.
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ahhh, now I see that my last entry entitled "big, this week is big" has appeared twice! And there are different comments but they are the first half who responded to the 'big' entry and then the second half... none of the very useful thoughts (thank you again) about the fog, the jury duty and blinking red light.
i'm getting good at letting go of stuff, i guess. in a good and bad way. water off a duck's back. (sigh. sort of. not.) here is a poem about that:
One Art
The art of losing isn't hard to master; so many things seem filled with the intent to be lost that their loss is no disaster, Lose something every day. Accept the fluster of lost door keys, the hour badly spent. The art of losing isn't hard to master. Then practice losing farther, losing faster: places, and names, and where it was you meant to travel. None of these will bring disaster. I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or next-to-last, of three beloved houses went. The art of losing isn't hard to master. I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster, some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent. I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster. -- Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident the art of losing's not too hard to master though it may look like (Write it!) a disaster.
Elizabeth Bishop
??????????????????????????
ahhh, now I see that my last entry entitled "big, this week is big" has appeared twice! And there are different comments but they are the first half who responded to the 'big' entry and then the second half... none of the very useful thoughts (thank you again) about the fog, the jury duty and blinking red light.
i'm getting good at letting go of stuff, i guess. in a good and bad way. water off a duck's back. (sigh. sort of. not.) here is a poem about that:
One Art
The art of losing isn't hard to master; so many things seem filled with the intent to be lost that their loss is no disaster, Lose something every day. Accept the fluster of lost door keys, the hour badly spent. The art of losing isn't hard to master. Then practice losing farther, losing faster: places, and names, and where it was you meant to travel. None of these will bring disaster. I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or next-to-last, of three beloved houses went. The art of losing isn't hard to master. I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster, some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent. I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster. -- Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident the art of losing's not too hard to master though it may look like (Write it!) a disaster.
Elizabeth Bishop
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