The subject line's from a poem by Dorianne Laux, "Anti-Lamentation." It was posted on Poetry Daily around seven years ago; there's a copy of it at The Writer's Almanac. While looking for an online copy of it, I came across an excellent sermon on regret by Rev. Scott Tayler (First Unitarian Church of Rochester).

My ThinkPad has once again proved itself the right laptop for me -- it crashed to the floor yesterday when I tripped over its power cord, but everything other than the right-hand latch has remained in working order. (When I purchased it last year, a huge selling point for me was that I'd seen it ranked high on sturdiness.)

It was sunny again this morning. The BYM took out the MGB, and we had breakfast at Goldie's Deli (lox and onions, mmm). We talked a bit about the research I'm doing on romance novels, and when I started getting graphic about the travails of the feisty-yet-virginal heroine in the ok-but-not-great book I was skimming last night, he clapped his hands over his ears. *evil grin*

I've also been dipping into William Matthews's Search Party. From "Snow":

I stare in a stupor of will,
fleck-faced, bearing my cow of a body
easily on the earth.
Intricate adjustments in my inner ears
and the gravitational habits of planets
keep me steady.
It's nothing personal, I know,
but so much basic work is being done for me
I ought to stop whining.

And then there's Marge Piercy, in "Learning to Read" (The Art of Blessing the Day):

I no longer expect to master
every alphabet before death
snatches away everything I know.
But they are always beckoning to me

those languages still squiggles
and noises, like lovers I never
had time to enjoy, places
I have never (yet) arrived.