"Everyone wants to go to heaven, but nobody wants to die!" That exclamation leveled at me by a twinkly eyed man pumping my gas at the corner of Kent and Billburg Ave a couple Sundays ago has been sticking to my inner ears since.
“...something of a very good looking, very erotic but also, at times, totally prissy lover that you look at, next to you in bed, with pride each morning, even if you never know what kind of mood she’s about to wake up in” wrote Süddeutsche Zeitung about Pep Guardiola. Another quote thats been ringing around the hollow insides.
These are the sorts of sentiments that do dance with truth, somehow gnawing at the nub of our folly. I have no excuses for how I am, while theories abound. I can't quite blame my behavior on my parents. I certainly can't point a finger at my partner. I've basically strung myself up on the cross and above, instead of "INRI" on the jolly plaque, it reads "UCM" (or for those of us who won't decipher Latin acronyms: "Should Have Known Better.")
And so another calendar year grinds to a close, the holiday cheer eating away at the peace of mind, a kind of perpetual war of double binds and missed connections. Yesterday during an Uber ride I asked the driver to switch the station from the Christmas music. He just threw his head back and laughed and happily, hinting at thankfully, acquiesced.
This year has been rough, hurtful and destructive only to hinge on moments of the sublime and the regenerative. The business model I've lucked into has become self-sustaining, often in spite of my best monkey-wrenching. My children are beautifully difficult to manage at times only because I've somehow decided that's how I need to approach them. Wifey remains oddly insistent in her patience with my antics. And if all this self congratulating were not nauseating enough, my long suffering dog still has has very, very soft fur.
I even surfed in generously parsimonious fits and spurts, albeit with long portions of dyspeptic animosity sewn between. But as we've all realized at some point, the worst day surfing is the worst day surfing.
All this to say: Happy Holidays. Thank you for continuing to read this blog if you read it. And if you don't, thank you for stopping by to turn your nose up. It is all appreciated.
Coming up in the next two weeks: Notes From A Surfing Holiday From The Land of Surf Holidays
Stay Tuned.
2 comments:
Great read and contented to hear of the success. NS
Happy new year, thanks for the constant good reads...
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