Are you Drinking? by Charles Bukowski
Are You Drinking?

washed-up, on shore, the old yellow notebookout againI write from the bedas I did lastyear.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 yourexercise, yourvitamins?"I think that I am just ill with life, the same stale yetfluctuatingfactors.even at the trackI watch the horses run byand it seemsmeaningless.I leave early after buying tickets on theremaining 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 beback here."so here I ampropped up against my pillowsagainjust an old guyjust an old writerwith a yellownotebook.something is walking across thefloortoward me.oh, it's just my catthistime.