Waste and Inspiration

It’s the same old story. Any person who might start something as wasteful as this will understand completely.

Yeah, some huge expectations come as the first few baby steps are taken when the days are sunny and long. Then, as the dark nothingness settles around you, thoughts of attention and acclaim die a slow, painful death in the night, finally rattling off into a calm acceptance and sublime joy that the end is near. This is the truth about life when the days turn short and during those first few stabs at it I admit I waited for the threats, the complaints. But even my poor view of self-worth is often over-stated and nothing really big happened at all. No, not nothing big. Nothing, in fact.

Then, once the lasting and illuminating realization of negative result was comfortably reclined in the recessed areas of my thick skull, I was happy!

Now, knowing that I am alone, nobody is really watching, I can finally do whatever I want. I can bare myself completely, wander virtually naked in the virtual woods without fear.

This is freedom, friends, and it feels so good.

But the question does arise, what the hell happened from February to April, anyway? And, honestly, this is not the first time I’ve ever asked myself that question. Oh, yeah, many times I’ve looked back to wonder what was going on, where was I? And, I know what you’re thinking, no, those occasions were not the result of ingesting any odd hallucinogens. Most often those little trips down memory lane came during the many periods of annual review, when the results of my inaction may be highlighted and called in to question for possible redress by concerned superiors and family members and the like.

I wasn’t just hiding behind the couch this time, waiting for a surprise attack that was sure to come. I was definitely busy. There were many more pressing issues of the day to keep me occupied during this quiet period.

Uhh … there was ice fishing, an event, now annual, off to the wilds of the great northern areas where the Ojibweh once staked their claim and today force the white hunter to endlessly scratch his head in amazement, wondering how did we ever let this get away?

That event took up a good week of my time in February. There was preparation, departure, the long trip filled with more high expectations, the letdown of lackluster and pointless fishing, staring down the silent blue hole on a frozen lake in Minnesota, much drinking, eating, spending money and then the solemn ride home with summary decompression.

Then, I know, I KNOW, I spent some time dealing with taxes in April. That’s a fact. Let’s see, there was my taxes, a number of relatives’ taxes that I fumbled around with, there was even a recent acquaintance of mine who followed me around for days wanting to chatter on about his particular liability. Oh, that was a full blown experience there. Hard to think of anything casual with those kinds of heady problems weighing down your every move, you know.

Yes, yes, there were more stupid expectations, dare I say hopeful, arriving with the end of Spring training. Well, we all know what happened there, how those hopes faded so quickly, dashed and pounded as they were against the jagged rocks of mediocrity and profit sharing.

But March … March … Jeez, for the life of me, I can’t remember a damn … oh, wait a minute. Now I remember! I ran into an old friend that month. Yeah, old Lloyd Void, who is a doctor now living on the West Coast I am told.

Doctor Void was the one who convinced me to carry on, eventually. He’s very inspirational in his own way. A fascinating guy, really. I’ll have to introduce him to you sometime.

Cheers,

Mb