Tag gray days

Shirt soaked, brain scrambled 0

Dear Bradshaw,

It has been hotter than Satan’s armpit and hellaciously humid. Shade makes no difference, or nighttime. Rome is on fire. The city is a sauna. One day last week the temperature¬†reached 100 degrees, which stings¬†anywhere at any time but especially when you’re walking around with long pants and a dress shirt, as I always am. I’ve been arriving to my lessons bathed with sweat, my shirt soaked, brain scrambled. continue reading »

30 people like this post.

Out cold, comatose, down for the count 1

Dear Bradshaw,

I’m tired, exhausted, bushed, beat. I know I’ve written about this before but I’m telling you the last times were nothing like now. I can hardly keep my eyes open. I’ve been falling asleep while working, falling asleep while eating, falling asleep while shaving, even falling asleep while waking up. continue reading »

13 people like this post.

Born-again Christians or Amish ministers 0

Dear Bradshaw,

I’m in a bad mood and have been since noon. Everything was going fine as wine until one of my students came to the lesson sneezing and sick, and as you know I hate, despise, loathe when students come to the lessons sick. We teach one-on-one at my school, and the classrooms are cubicles = small, not much bigger than the table we’re sitting at, so it’s an intimate lesson and any germs generally make each other’s acquaintance, and it irritates me when I ask a student how they are and they wipe their nose or cough into their coat and say they have the flu or something, especially after having shaken my hand. continue reading »

7 people like this post.

Too many and too much 0

Dear Bradshaw,

Dude, I’m dying. Suffering from life’s worst disease = life itself. My glass is half full (of wine) but, but, but… But what? I don’t know, Shaw. I don’t know anymore. And that’s the problem. What am I doing here? Where am I going? What’s the meaning of it all? Is this my lot in life? To wake up, exercise, go to work, come home, eat dinner, go to sleep, and then do it all over the next day? That’s not a life. It’s a vicious circle. I want to toss in the towel. I want to go to sleep and never wake up. How easy would that be? How sweet to sleep through the inevitable? But, well, here I am, with just a smidgeon of time to write you these letters. continue reading »

3 people like this post.

A bag of marshmallows 0

Dear Bradshaw,

¬†¬†¬†¬†¬†¬†¬†¬†¬†¬†¬† I gotta say, brother, I’m getting older. You may think 37 ain’t so old but seriously it’s getting to the point where I breathe in and my back aches. Meanwhile, when I get out of bed in the morning my joints crack like a pack of firecrackers. If I sleep in an awkward position or overexert myself while exercising, pain strikes and stays. Used to be I could take a punch: skin my knee, stub my toe, fall down a flight of stairs and then get up as if I’d fallen on a bag of marshmallows. Those days are over. Remember I told you, maybe five months ago I was suffering from a kink in the neck? Still am. Incredible, isn’t it? If I were eighteen, it would have healed before it had happened. continue reading »

3 people like this post.

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