Where and When We Can

Originally Posted Monday, September 29, 2014

So. . . that is what it is like for people who don't worry about writing a blog on weekends?  You people, you have the easy life.  Mine is full of artistic anxiety.  Ho!

Q texted me last night to tell about the wonders of his life. And then the line went dead.  He will disappoint me, I am certain.  It will be like Burning Man.  He will come back with the quotidian report of the usual decadence and pictures of. . . whatever.  There will be none of what I asked for.  He does it on purpose.  He does it for spite. 

There.  That should be fuel. 

My own life has become somewhat hidden.  I have gone underground.  I am balancing with one foot on a slack line, eggs in one hand, knives in the other.  O.K.  I'm mixing my metaphors.  That's the way it is right now, though.  I have taken to my bed with catalogs, both print and online.  I spent an hour last night with the big ones from Restoration Hardware.  I haven't looked at furnishings for years.  I bought a cute waste bucket at the hardware store when I went in to get a plunger.  Felt like a real man, really.  I solved a minor plumbing problem on my own.  Bathroom sink is clogged no longer.  And there is a cute white enameled bucket there with "Trash" painted on in black.  Oh, man.  The tenant called and said there are carpenter ants in the apartment.  She said they eat wet wood.  Must be a leak, she said.  Get ready to spend your money, I thought.  Just when I was ready to buy a motorcycle or a Vespa.  Just when. . . .

The inevitable always happens.  You can live in a desert for years and then there is a flood.  Just when you think you've got it dialed. . . .

Two days off from the gym and blogging and the factory are just not enough.  They are barely a teaser.  I would lie in bed for many days more taking care of my emotional state.  I would just listen to music and nurse my melancholia.  But the world just isn't built that way.  It is not at all meant to serve us.  We must take our pleasures where and when we can. 

But now. . . to the factory.