I worked late on Halloween. Driving home, I wondered whether to stop and buy candy for the trick-or-treaters. I was hungry and thought to get home to make dinner, but better safe than sorry. The grocery store shelves were empty of candy, at least the popular kind. There were bags of candy corn and other schlock. I found a bag of min Heath Bars, one of Mounds, and another of Milky Ways. Driving through the neighborhood, I saw small herds of kids followed at a distance by parents with flashlights. I was missing this national tradition, I thought sadly. I hadn't any plans.
I had a steak in the fridge, the one I told you I bought on Saturday, the one I couldn't cook alone that night. I turned on the grill, put on some broccoli, and began chopping garlic. Since it was a nice evening, I left the door open. I poured all the candy into a big bowl and opened a bottle of wine.
Nobody came.
Why? I wondered. But I viewed it as symbolic, a giant metaphor for my life at this time. The steak was terrific, one of the best I've ever eaten. I called my mother to tell her.
I woke up last night at three a.m. I rolled around unable to sleep, got up, drank water, and went back to bed. And rolled. And got up again and read a bit. And went back to bed. I woke up late today, the sun already above the horizon. I am groggy and have decided not to go to work until this afternoon. I want to take a walk, pay some bills. Really, I just want to be part of the world. Work makes me increasingly unhappy. Some group should occupy the factory. The greedheads in charge need some stiffer and more public resistance. It is time, I think, for everyone to take to the streets. Many cocky, belligerent people need to be frightened. I am sick beyond measure of the Republican tone. "Attitude, Not Ideas." That should be their motto.
But I am sick of more than that and am sick of myself, too. Maybe you've felt it. Maybe you've watched yourself unable to get out of the rut, spinning your wheels, making it worse, while all along people fly by on their way to pleasure, fame, and fortune. Or so it seems from the vantage point you cannot escape.
My writing has become too desultory, I know, and if I can't change it, I may just take a break. I know I must this morning from my life's curse. The sun is shining, the air is cool. I think I'll try to run.
Be Drunk
ReplyDeleteby Charles Baudelaire
You have to be always drunk. That's all there is to it—it's the only way. So as not to feel the horrible burden of time that breaks your back and bends you to the earth, you have to be continually drunk.
But on what? Wine, poetry or virtue, as you wish. But be drunk.
And if sometimes, on the steps of a palace or the green grass of a ditch, in the mournful solitude of your room, you wake again, drunkenness already diminishing or gone, ask the wind, the wave, the star, the bird, the clock, everything that is flying, everything that is groaning, everything that is rolling, everything that is singing, everything that is speaking. . .ask what time it is and wind, wave, star, bird, clock will answer you: "It is time to be drunk! So as not to be the martyred slaves of time, be drunk, be continually drunk! On wine, on poetry or on virtue as you wish."
I was up last night too...for hours...you should've called. I'm sure I could've bored you back to sleep! :)
ReplyDeleteL, Yes, I've believed that. I must try to get drunk on something else.
ReplyDeleteR, "It was only insomnia. Many must have it."