The last few days have been spent in my office disposing of the evidence of another year. I tend toward the deliberate, unlike Colm’s method which involves great sweeping motions and construction grade trash bags. The entire operation takes him a few minutes, so he spends a great deal of time sitting in my office watching me sort through hillocks of academic detritus.
Turdling: (Holding a pile of magazines over the trash) You want any of these?
Colm: What’s that?
Turdling: The free shit they send, sample copies, literary start ups.
Colm: Naw, I’ve got my summer reading all set. I’m sticking to soft core pornography.
Turdling: (looking though the pile as he tosses them) Hedgehog Review? There’s a piece in here about Victorian sexual quirks. Long form too, none of that seventeen reasons to hate humanist poets shit.
Colm: Dump it.
Turdling: (still sorting) When do you leave?
Colm: First week of July.
Turdling: How are you going to make it through a month with Mira?
Colm: She teaches in the morning, I teach in the afternoon, we’ll never see each other. Plus it’s fucking Barcelona isn’t it.
The Observations of A.E. Turdling 