A/C and poetry

And so I continue to learn: it's the little things that matter. Frustrated by a day that refuses to cooperate (no water to take a shower -- even a bucket bath, the plumber refusing to come, feeling sick for no good reason, etc etc), it's funny how quickly you can turn yourself around.

I don't quite know what sparked it, but I had the strongest craving to read poetry. Ten minutes later (aided by a strong working air conditioner), I am once again feeling grateful and happy. I remember reading this poem over and over before coming to India.

From T.S. Eliot and "The Waste Land":

My friend, blood shaking my heart
The awful daring of a moment's surrender
Which an age of prudence can never retract
By this, and this only, we have existed
Which is not to be found in our obituaries
Or in memories draped by the beneficent spider
Or under seals broken by the lean solicitor
In our empty rooms