Friday, September 26, 2014
We are in the Season of Balance, the time when the year's hard work pays off with the harvest. Or so we hope, shoving aside the real question of whether all that work was worth it. There is no use in navel gazing that one, not unless your kink is masochism. Smarter people than I have wandered down that path — past the thorn trees and the crows that peck your fingers and vocal chords to shreds, past the dogs that lunge for your throat and settle for your balls, all the way through that long and narrow gauntlet to a clearing, where the sign simply says "NO."
That way lies madness, yaass. No need to go there again.
So instead I will walk the path of the Libra and try to stay on my feet. Like them, I crave balance. Fewer gray days and a little laughter to break the private silence.
But only a little; the Factory is always noisy, in no small part because my desk is backstopped by several police scanners. After several hours of that din I am dun and done, and even laughter sometimes grates. I like the quiet. I need it. It balances out the noise of the day.
But too much silence only leads to more omphaloskepsis, more pointless pondering over the Reason for all this, when the answer is clear — because. That's why. Because. It's why people fall in and out of love, why fortune beams on some and throws shade on others. Hard work and determination only count for so much, and after that it's all a crapshoot. Don't ask why because you already know the answer. Don't make me say it again.
So where to find balance? Maybe I need more than just a little laughter; maybe I should dive into a deep pool of it, luxuriate and cavort in it. Ignore the cautions and do like that reporter did in Alaska and just say "fuck it." It would make for one helluva splash, and you know me — that's right in my wheelhouse.
It would certainly make up for the past few years, too. There has been so much gray it settled in my beard and my bones and made me creaky. If I don't start moving I'm going to get brittle and it's only one misstep from there to a broken hip and a loss of all balance. I've already rocked one four-footed cane. I have no desire to lean on another.
Intriguing times are ahead.