The Reluctant Monk's Tale

Those of you who are regular readers will already have predicted what I am about to report.  It is as if I wrote the first part merely to set up the second.  Perhaps writing this way is a determiner that sets my course toward some self-fulfilling prophecy.  Or, perhaps, I've stepped into the cosmic dung so deeply there is little hope of getting out.  Who knows, and little does it matter, I guess.  It is just a tale as all lives are, and the art is in the telling.

And so my fear today, then, lies in not being able to tell it well and artfully.  It is true that I have been bumbling some at that.  Last night, I tried to write an email to someone I don't know and couldn't form an artful phrase to save me.  I used to believe that if I wrote seriously and well enough, I might raise the dead, or dead love at the minimum.  That never worked of course.  I could never break through the echo chamber of one girl's thoughts.  Too bad for her.  She went on to hideous success as they all do.  I couldn't hold her back with my impotent incantations.

Friday morning I was a wreck having stayed up late after watching that sappy movie that, for a moment, reified all those maudlin notions of the great mid-brow masses.  A guitar and a bottle of whiskey are terrible things after midnight in an house empty but for the terrified cat.  I was like a demon avatar in the X rated version of Second Life.  I woke in the morning thinking I would have to stay up late that night.  I was going to dinner.  I must be entertaining and attractive.

After coffee and internet, I looked at the pile of bills lying on the floor beneath the mail slot.  I had not touched them for over a month.  The pile was big and the cat had taken to pissing on it I found when I went over to shovel up the first armful.  I had to clean up, for the maids were coming in a while.

The mail was of two types, junk and envelopes with glassine windows.  I sorted it into two damp piles and threw the advertisements away.  It was still a big pile.  With shaky hands, I began ripping open the other.  It really had been awhile since I had paid my bills.  This was awful.

Just then the phone rang.  It was the girl with whom I had the dinner date.  Hello.  Hello.  

"It doesn't look like I'll be in town tonight," she said.  "The thing is, we only have a car when Drew's mother is at work, and I don't know the schedule."

She told me this in an oh-so sensual voice.  But suddenly she was yelling to another room.

"Drew.  DREW!!!  WHEN IS YOUR MOTHER GOING TO WORK.  DREW!!!!  WHEN. . . IS. . . YOUR. . . MOTHER. . . GOING. . . TO. . . WORK!"

It reminded me of something I didn't want to think about.  At least I wouldn't have to stay up that night I told myself with relief.

After work, I came home to take a run.  Two storms were brewing elsewhere, and they had drawn all the moist, hot air out to sea.  The afternoon felt like a sweet autumn day.  The sky was clear, the air dry, the light indescribable.

Later, on the veranda eating sushi alone, I could only chuckle.  It is better this way, I thought.  The other would have been a disaster.  They must have hopped a freight train to come to town.  Jesus Christ.

And so, my friends, I've remained chaste and pure, still ready if someone needs an emergency monk.

Just now the sun is rising, the sky a bright and brilliant red.  Sailor take warning.  I have three days before me without the need to put on long pants or shoes or do anything I don't want to do.  I have stacks of pictures to scan and work on and a couple models who can cancel at the last minute if they want.  I don't care so much.  I have a pile of unread books, a Netflix account, a pesky cat, a big couch, and a soon-to-be well-stocked pantry.  I will buy exotic foods today and at least three bunches of flowers.  I will attack the clutter and throw away many things today.  And I will finish paying the bills.  After that, I will be broke and want to contemplate the beauty of a simple life.

And that should take me through sunset.