Sneezing like a dog…
It’s been hot and beautiful for weeks. We didn’t have a proper Spring this year. We went from a long and brutal winter to a hot summer. The transition took a couple of weeks. It’s been hell on gardens. Many of us have suffered the loss of what were reliable perennials in past years. That’s the nature of nature. I haven’t spent a lot of time fretting about it. Things die. That’s the way it goes.
Instead, I’ve been enjoying the great weather. Reading and writing on the deck is one of my favourite things to do. Having a nap in the sun and being awakened not by a person or a clock or a phone, but by a little bit of a breeze or an insect crawling on my leg. Sneezing out into the backyard without covering my nose and mouth. Projectile sneezing. Simply enjoying the momentary head rush of a good sneeze without considering all the social niceties. Sneezing like a dog sneezes.
Not giving a second thought to material possessions or consumerism. Being happy with my words and my thoughts and my own company.
Thoreau would approve, I think.
I haven’t fought the law yet, but at some point, I will…
I’ve never thought of myself as someone who has a problem with authority. I always thought I had a problem with people dumber than me being in charge of me, but if smarter people than me were the boss I could get along with them.
Now I’m questioning my self-evaluation. My supervisor at my new McJob made a simple request of me last week and I instinctively bristled. I have no idea how smart or dumb he is*1I haven’t been there long enough to judge, I just know he’s the manager and when he asked me to do something I thought was superfluous, I immediately wanted to tell him where to go and how to get there.
I don’t have the kind of problem with authority that would get me thrown in jail, I don’t think, but I definitely have the kind of problem with authority that restricts my opportunities for advancement and could lead to my dismissal.
All this reinforces my gut-feeling that I need to plot my own route to success. I’m prepared to fail and take responsibility for that as long as I can also take the credit when I succeed. My conflicted opinion of my own intelligence could be problematic. If I say or do something dumb, I’ll tell myself to fuck off which will mean I’ll have to write myself up and probably never promote myself.
Alice poops more than any dog – or indeed any mammal – I’ve ever hung around with. I pick up after her in the yard every day and every day there are 5 or 6 piles of used food. We spent 45 minutes at the park yesterday morning and I picked up two piles, one of which was a Dwayne Johnstone calibre garlic coil. It required two poop bags and weighed at least a pound.
We feed her good food twice a day and she’s healthy as can be according to the vet. She’s weighed 52 pounds for a year. She has a very athletic physique, tons of energy, and a healthy coat…but she poops with the same frequency that President Bone Spurs lies.
This week’s book selection…
Einstein’s Dreams by Alan Lightman
My mother bought this book for me when it was released 25 years ago. I’ve read it at least 7 times. I go back to it when I need to reset my thought processes when they stagnate. It sits on one of my bookshelves next to The Tao of Pooh, The Satiristas*2next week’s book, Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, and Stephen King’s On Writing because it’s a book that I reference often in my quest to make sense of life.
A modern classic, Einstein’s Dreams is a fictional collage of stories dreamed by Albert Einstein in 1905, when he worked in a patent office in Switzerland. As the defiant but sensitive young genius is creating his theory of relativity, a new conception of time, he imagines many possible worlds. In one, time is circular, so that people are fated to repeat triumphs and failures over and over. In another, there is a place where time stands still, visited by lovers and parents clinging to their children. In another, time is a nightingale, sometimes trapped by a bell jar.
Now translated into thirty languages, Einstein’s Dreams has inspired playwrights, dancers, musicians, and painters all over the world. In poetic vignettes, it explores the connections between science and art, the process of creativity, and ultimately the fragility of human existence.
If you’d like to buy Einstein’s Dreams (or anything else), please click here to go to !ndigo.ca and I’ll get a little financial reward for sending you there to spend your money.
See you next Monday.
Footnotes [ + ]
|1.||↑||I haven’t been there long enough to judge|
|2.||↑||next week’s book|