Sunday, March 7, 2021

If You Can't Stand Lonesomeness, You Are Doomed to a Life of Misery


I've been wanting to use this photo for a long time, but I haven't been able to find the right post for it.  I'm just going to use it today.  I haven't anything to say, really.  Well, I do, but I'll not.  I started writing a post yesterday but today I don't care to finish it.  It is full of tongue-in-cheek pedantry because I fear I am no expert about what I wrote.  I just go along opining about morals and moral codes and "the unexamined life," and moral certitude or the lack thereof.  It is the sort of thing that sounds wonderful when you are writing it and is horrible when read.  I should write all my posts the day before I post them.  But no, that would be no good for everything would be deleted and there would be no blog.  

And wouldn't that be sad?

I just wrote some more shite that I have deleted.  I can't get going today.  I ate a piece of gummy candy last night on top of my usual cocktail(s) and woke up very, very late.  Being narcotized is always appealing until you need to think at which point you try to ponder getting sober for awhile.  I attribute the fault, however, to reading Gerald Murnane's "The Prairie." I didn't read it all.  I stopped short.  I was bored after about 35 pages.  He is supposedly a literary treasure, Australia's greatest writer, and perhaps he is.  I am willing to assume responsibility for being a poor reader.  Thirty-five pages, though, left me feeling empty and dead.  Now that I think about it, maybe he is Australia's Beckett.  There seems to be a tedious absurdity to what I was reading.  Q recommended the book.  I will give him benefit of the doubt.  

After that, the day was a wash.  I slept a lot, didn't exercise, and even skipped going to see my mother.  I went to Whole Foods and got a hanger steak, a big red potato, some thick asparagus, and a bunch of fresh baked flourless chocolate cookies.  A trip to the liquor store for some wine and whiskey, and home again, home again. . .  The food went on the grill.  I opened the wine and nibbled a gummy.  The sun was setting and the air was cooling.  I overcooked the steak a bit, but otherwise everything was good.  Some scotch and another nibble, and I settled down on the couch in front of the television.  I like stupid things, I guess, especially after reading Murnane.  

I got really stupid.  

I read an article this morning about people who have stayed home during the pandemic, people like me, I believe.  There are many who haven't.  Those of us who have, however, seem to be finding little reason to leave the house now.  Many of the inconveniences of pandemic life now seem bonuses.  Curbside pickup and delivery services, for instance.  Untucked shirts and stretchy pants.  Binge-worthy t.v. 

Oh, I will get out.  I know I will.  I can't deny the world the pleasures of my company forever.  But as the song goes, there is nothing that competes with habit.  

I just glanced at the top of the page.  The title is left over from what I was writing last night.  It still seems to work.  I will leave it.  

But how about that photo, eh?  I'll leave it, too.  They were awfully good sports.  

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