Not Waving but Drowning

Last week, I checked out a volume of poetry from the library entitled "America's favorite Poems" with a foreward by Pinsky. I am generally suspicious of anything that announces mass appeal, but it's actually not a bad collection. I know there are those who don't like Stevie Smith, however I re-read "Not Waving but Drowning" yesterday and decided it was an absolutely appropriate description of how I feel when I'm having a bad day.

The appraisal on the house came back not just low, but ridiculously off. The appraiser blew a lot of smoke up our skirts while she was here though I really don't know why she did it--we are not the kind of people who demand that. To quote my dear grey-haired mother, "She was a two-faced #$% who didn't like your house because it wasn't one of the 200,000 places on the lake." Ya gotta love my mother's colorful phrasing. I don't think you could burn this house down for the price the appraiser quoted to the bank. We don't live in the taj-mahal, but neither do we live in a condemned property (Not even close).

For the time being, my plan to quit my job is on hold. This means I'm not in a good place at all this morning. Some days I wish there was a pill I could take that would just handle the occasional lows that come with living.


Not Waving But Drowning
--Stevie Smith

Nobody heard him, the dead man,
But still he lay moaning:
I was much further out than you thought
And not waving but drowning.

Poor chap, he always loved larking
And now he's dead
It must have been too cold for him his heart gave way,
They said.

Oh, no no no, it was too cold always
(Still the dead one lay moaning)
I was much too far out all my life
And not waving but drowning.