washed-up, on shore, the old yellow notebook out again I write from the bed as I did last year. will see the doctor, Monday. \"yes, doctor, weak legs, vertigo, head- aches and my back hurts.\" \"are you drinking?\" he will ask. \"are you getting your exercise, your vitamins?\" I think that I am just ill with life, the same stale yet fluctuating factors. even at the track I watch the horses run by and it seems meaningless. I leave early after buying tickets on the remaining races. \"taking off?\" asks the motel clerk. \"yes, it's boring,\" I tell him. \"If you think it's boring out there,\" he tells me, \"you oughta be back here.\" so here I am propped up against my pillows again just an old guy just an old writer with a yellow notebook. something is walking across the floor toward me. oh, it's just my cat this time.