This account begins in bed, after a long and full day. I've just finished massaging the back and feet of my woman, and now we're lying on either side of our dog. Our dog is surprised at the attention, but I think my woman likes this as much as I do, and the dog likes it too but is a little unsure what's going on. She shares her affection with both of us by rubbing her nose against each of our faces. Music is playing and it sounds great. We're waiting for the comforter cover to finish drying and we are enjoying this moment. It's a moment not unlike makeup sex for our rotten moods that were brought on by a sort of cabin fever for her, and for me, a small amount of frustration at work or the season or whatever.
The day began for us 16 hours ago. The week has been colder than average in this city. It was close to breaking record lows, or people were hoping it would. -13 at some point last night. Too cold to walk the dog, but not cold enough to have a complaint. Time for work rolls around and I'm dropped off near the light rail train station. It's a cold one, but I am in no hurry. I validate my fare, and I start down the stairs. Instinctively, I look to see if I have just missed a train, and there is one stopped. I rush down the stairs and board the train. Completely full, I stand near the center of the car, surrounded by people fearing for their survival.
It's sunny this morning, and I look towards the downtown where I work. Loads of steam is spewing from the cooling/heating towers on the tops of the hi-rise buildings. I long for an adequate camera to capture the scene, but realize at the same time that there is no camera that matches the perception of my eyes. Fortunately, there is some sort of hold up at the next train station, and we are held in a light rail purgatory where the only option is to admire the scene in front of us. I truly love working amongst those towers. As a kid I would have asked my mom to circle around a city's downtown and I could have stared at those buildings for hours. I wonder sometimes if the reason I went to school in the first place, and chose this path, was to work among those towers. The train moves again.
On the ride, I notice a foothill that needs to be named, and needs to be climbed. I notice the graffiti on the retired diesel train engines and feel nostalgic about one that appeared quite timely, calling for the release of Julian Assange. I notice an elaborate and likely underutilized piece of playground equipment on a college campus. I peer into the drivers seat of an SUV that has been pulled over this morning by the campus police. I watch a cab maneuver the twisty tunnel through the convention center. I wonder about the people around me. I get of the train and I follow a clumsy man through the streets. He nearly slips and falls in the middle of the street, and I feel like I could have bet on that happening. It's cold, and I am not perfectly comfortable, but I will get to work. I join my coworkers in our office and I get to work. People complain about the temperature. I ran 7 miles the night before, as I do most nights. I tell them that after a half mile or so, the temperature is irrelevant. Wear extra layers over your junk, I would say, if I believed that they needed the advice.
School for children has been canceled this week. Bitterly cold, according to weather channel dot com. I stay indoors most of the day, but I look outside and I am impressed with the steam I see coming out the tops of the towers and the beauty. I get out of work around 6:30 and my woman is waiting to pick me up. A pipe has burst in the building and I am asked to use a different exit from the building. We drive home and I begin to prepare for this nights run. It's about 0 degrees Fahrenheit, so I throw on one extra layer. I know that it will cause me to sweat, but I am looking for the perfect balance in gear. I got close.
As it is on all nights like this, the run is perfect. For the second night in a row, we are the only runners in the park. We argue about the financial Armageddon that awaits, we thank God aloud for delivering us this great evening, we share in our total distrust of women, and we share in our love of pussy. it's a perfect run and it's over too soon. 7 miles takes about an hour to run, even with the surface of powder snow and ice. Maximin admits that he has been the weaker runner so far this week, and I silently disagree, though it has felt very natural. I come inside and I pour a couple of glasses of whiskey. I need something to take away the acute pain that runs down the entirety of my frozen cock. I sneak away to the bathroom to try and warm it with hot water. It doesn't need hot water, it just needs time inside. The whiskey helps and soon I'm comfortable. Carolyn is upset or annoyed or in a sour mood, but she does the right thing and takes a bath. I am feeding on her melancholy and I get ready to eat some leftovers she has left out for me. I eat them in the warmth of the dining room, but the copper dining room table seems to have conducted the temperature outside and is freezing. I rest my arm on the catalogs instead of the metal surface, and I let Rogue lick the plate clean. After, in silence, we clean the kitchen and we launder the sheets and comforter cover.
I've had a good night, and I know she is frustrated. I rub her back and the dog Rogue joins us on our bed. I massage her back and feet, and we listen to her favorite band. Waves of joy pass through my body as I listen to the words and realize that it is quite possible that I will never relate to the sad words of that song. Rogue excuses herself and returns with cold fur; she's been out in the back yard. We've been holding each other in perfect comfort, but my mind is too active to call it a night. I realize that I must pen an ode to this magnificent season, to this perfect situation god has given us. He delivered this day, as He delivers every day, exactly as He meant to, with soft and caring and wise hands.
Work and boredom.--Looking for work in order to be paid: in civilized countries today almost all men are at one in doing that. For all of them work is a means and not an end in itself. Hence they are not very refined in their choice of work, if only it pays well. But there are, if only rarely, men who would rather perish than work without any pleasure in their work. They are choosy, hard to satisfy, and do not care for ample rewards, if the work itself is not the reward of rewards. Artists and contemplative men of all kinds belong to this rare breed, but so do even those men of leisure who spend their lives hunting, traveling, or in love affairs and adventures. All of these desire work and misery if only it is associated with pleasure, and the hardest, most difficult work if necessary. Otherwise, their idleness is resolute, even if it spells impoverishment, dishonor, and danger to life and limb. They do not fear boredom as much as work without pleasure; they actually require a lot of boredom if their work is to succeed. For thinkers and all sensitive spirits, boredom is that disagreeable "windless calm" of the soul that precedes a happy voyage and cheerful winds. They have to bear it and must wait for its effect on them. Precisely this is what lesser natures cannot achieve by any means. To ward off boredom at any cost is vulgar, no less than work without pleasure. Perhaps Asians are distinguished above Europeans by a capacity for longer, deeper calm; even their opiates have a slow effect and require patience, as opposed to the disgusting suddenness of the European poison, alcohol.
ReplyDeleteNietzsche The Gay Science §42
Fred is a master of his language and indeed this one, and I like reading his words. His words help me to understand my own life better. There will be a time when I live differently than I live now, partially thanks to Fred's words. Every day is used to work towards that eventuality. That is the project. Earlier in life when I had different goals and aspirations, I unknowingly bound myself to some form of slavery, some need to be employed. Knowing what I know now, these days are numbered. I feel very good, though, about the way I spend my days. If I were to have a conversation with Fred, it would not touch on the subject of employment. Though, I am sure he would have some useful words for me if it did. There may be some confusion on the part of the poster, though, in that these posts of daily life should not be confused with boredom. I am anything but bored! Fred, through these words and others, does inspire to strive for more, but what more is has not been determined yet, and is not the same for me as it is for others. I understand his words on boredom, and I would invite an interview by him to determine whether I am indeed bored. My life is not akin to a windless calm of the soul, rather, my life is the wind in the sail of a great sea vessel leaving port on a day when the wind is blowing inland. The bast sailing is into the wind, after all.
ReplyDeleteIt wasn't mentioned in the story, but the day was pretty cold. The dog couldn't walk more than a hundred and fifty feet before she gave up on the walk due to the pain. It was not very comfortable outside but I expected her to get further than that.
ReplyDeleteThis was an exceptionally melodic account-and a strange mixture: there is a feel for the entire city (you have the buildings, the tall buildings to which you have finally been granted access, and the forest--and these two things make the city along with a few other things); there is a feel for the private or intimate, but none of this finds its flesh were it not for the contrast of the severity of the buildings, 'the outside,' 'the cold.' The cold attempts to disrupt privacy--and in our struggle to combat this invasion we are faced with our most private moments. Perhaps Moraline can shed light on the similarities of cold, hunger, lack of water, and other matters.
ReplyDelete