Another perfect day in the universe. I’m here in my underwear, unwashed, unshaved, working on the second coffee. I’ve done an hour of writing for another book.
I’ve had a long fitful night sleep's beside a gorgeous young blond. She cares for me because I have air conditioning in my place. It counteracts the effects of her menopausal hot flashes.
All my life I’ve wanted to be loved by women for who I am but instead have settled for being loved for what I had. I think my first girlfriend liked me for my guitar. Not because I could play it but because with the guitar I accessorized her image of herself as an artist. It helped that I had blue jeans, an Army Navy turtle neck sweater and Montreal Beret. The Army Navy sweater was digested by moths decades past.
The girl I’m with today doesn’t care so much for what I wear. She’s the kind of gal that would say, “you can leave your hat on.” I lost the original beret but replaced it with a Canadian Boy Scout one. When I’m fully clothed she sometimes says affectionately, "you clean up nice.”
I remember the meaning and purpose of life, my relationship with God, finding the “answer", ‘getting ahead’, ‘fighting the good fight’, “learning”, ‘solving the puzzle’, ‘running the rat race’, all being more important. I remember ‘having to have her’. I remember ‘needing desperately’. I don’t know I feel this way today. Everything is tempered by time. I’ve fought so many good fights, found so many answers, won so many races that each day seems sufficient unto itself.
She’s in the bath now.
The dog is asleep at my feet. He picks this place so if I move he can be right there. Ready for adventure.
I’ve had so many adventures and frankly look forward to the next. Several are muddling along in my brain like the book I’m working on. I’m meandering forward. All the straight lines have been taken and discarded. There’s been too many mazes, too many mountains. I’m content with the valleys. Today.
I know I’ll impress her soon by making her a bacon and croissant breakfast. I wasn’t planning on being particularly attractive when I bought the croissants yesterday in the East Vancouver Bakery. I just know she finds me sexy when I make her breakfast. I got her coffee already. She’s the kind of girl that likes a man with a job who pays his taxes.
I dreamed of riding the Harley last night. I’m thinking I might go for a spin later. Pick up my laundry. Apparently women find clean clothes sexy? The girls I used to date said all kinds of bullshit which I only knew was false when I tried it out on the next woman I dated.
“What makes you think women like men who don’t wash each day.”
“My last girlfriend said women like that in a man.’
"She was an idiot. Do you like dirty women. Don’t answer that, I mean, do you like women who stink of sweat. Don’t answer that either, men are pigs. Just remember women aren’t. More women will like a man that showers daily than one who showers once a month."
I’m glad women got more honest over the years. I like to shower. After she’s finished with her bath, I’ll probably lather up. The only dirty dog in this relationship is Gilbert the cockapoo, He hates baths. Probably his girlfriends like the animal smell. I figure if I’m missing it, i can stuff my face in an ass or crotch just like he does and get the full fragrance. It’s just a thought. I like those smells at night, in the moonlight, in the heat of passion.
But coffee and bacon smells, that’s on my mind right now. I don’t know what I’m going to do after that.
I’ve got so much work to do. I could work around the clock seven days a week and not make a dint in what I ‘should” be doing. But yesterday, friday, I couldn’t even think straight. I’m utterly exhausted each day by 6. My mind literally weeps. I feel like my brain today acts like my body did when I did construction. I’d put in a 10 hour day, come home, eat and sleep. That’s all i’ve been able to do with thinking and office work now. I crash each night in front of the tv, utterly overwhelmed by all the demands and desperation and anger in my work. There’s a constant crisis and emergency.
Now in my new office, the sirens are gone. For 5 years I’ve heard sirens and screaming all day long outside my window and the quiet is the first thing I noticed in my new office. And no one accosting me on the street, wanting me to give them money, shouting at me because they think I’m someone else or wanting me to buy drugs. I feel like I’ve done a five year tour in a war zone and by moving a few blocks I’m no longer at ground zero. I’d begun thinking everyone was looking for an angle. It’s been too long that I’m triple locking my world.
People on drugs simply don’t realize how loud, insensitive and assaultive, they are. They’re baby bubble boys and girls in adult bodies, their emotions protected by layers of cotton candy anti feeling agents so they can assault everyone verbally around them with impunity. The drug addict lives in a flack jacket. I’m bruised everywhere today. And the ignorance off the front lines is appalling. The people ‘back home’ are living in their own ‘bubble boy and bubble girl’ worlds. The law makers and judges are so distant from reality that they may as well be living on space stations. They don’t know they don’t know and their arrogance and ignorance are even more painful than those who are suffering the disease.
I’m recouping. She says, to me, it's okay to do nothing. It’s okay. You can relax. You need to have a break. I’ve got files and work.I’ve taken home work every night and weekend for thirty years. I’ve a dozen books to read. I’ve read a thousands of books related to my work, thousands of documentaries and movies related directly to my work. I’m always working. But today I’m reading a book about an English privateer in the 19th century New Orleans harbour. I’ve got a cowboy novel nearby that looks equally appealing. That’s my plan for today’s agenda. Maybe sit outside in the sun, maybe go for a swim in the pool. Maybe ride the Harley for the laundry.
I’ve just read two theological philosophical texts this last two weeks. I’m off to ireland, a conference on autism, so I’ve read a half dozen papers on the subject and am slowly progressing on a new text on neurotransmitters. “I should be ‘finishing’ it but I preferred reading the Kindle version of ‘celtic myths’, enjoyed learning my forebears were the ‘barbarians’ that first invaded Rome. I’ve loved learning about the history of my grandfather’s people. I’ve talked with my brother about his trip to Ireland. He’s reassured me about driving the stick shift I’ll be renting. I’m always learning. Everything new frightens me, then I face it and move on.
I’m still thinking about bacon.
The young girl just walked past smelling of lilac and bath water. She was happy yesterday when I got her Keens walking shoes at Mountain Equipment Coop. If I could talk to myself as a young man wanting to get laid, I’d tell myself, forget about the poetry, save your money and take the girl to a shoe store and buy her shoes. I wouldn’t tell my younger self about bacon. Somethings are best kept a secret. It takes a life time for a guy to learn about bacon and shoes. Young men are slow. But I think the women like that. The mystery. Listening dreamily to the young guys playing guitar and reciting poems, knowing that if you play your cards right as a girl, you’ll one day get shoes and bacon from a guy with a job who pays his taxes. The dogs left me and followed her into the other room. The dirty dog wants my girl. I think I’d better get in the shower. Then I'll get started on the bacon. She really is hot. I never thought as a young man I’d be thankful to have air conditioning to cool my girl down.
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