"The universe is illusion merely, not one speck of it real, and we are not only its victims, falling always into or smashed by a planet slung by its sun—but also its captives, bound by the mineral-made ropes of our senses."I woke to this quote in my head this morning which is an odd thing given I haven't read much Dillard in the last couple of years. She's always worth the read but instantly sucks me in if I do. I only indulge a snack or meal of her demanding prose when I can devote an entire night to nothing else. She's one of those writers who can write a single paragraph that will make a full semester class on language and the art of imagery and meaning.
- Annie Dillard, "Holy The Firm"
But I read a lot of authors like that, and there are only so many nights/dark mornings to go around, and even less when life outside the page intrudes.
At any rate, that was where I started my day. The quote just hangs there, floating free, not tethered to anything in particular. It probably was addressing a dream I woke from, but if so the connection is lost along with the forgotten substance.
Still a good quote, though, and probably relevant to something going on down in the factory floor of my mind where dreams are forged. I'm vaguely curious what it might be, but forcing it never works. It will be along when it will. Or maybe not. Or maybe it was resolved, processed, filed and my subconscious has moved on to something else.
(shrug) It does shit like that. I try to not interfere as, after much self-examination, I've discovered that my subconscious is a lot more grown up and capable than my conscious. Not much of a standard to hold it too, I suppose. Kind of like being evaluated as the toughest Muppet. But, still, it seems to handle this sort of thing without much fuss, so I generally just leave it to it and offhandedly wonder at these fragments it leaves laying around.
Moving on.
Sorry I've been so stingy with my writing here, assuming you noticed. I want to write it off to some event or life change moment or drama or something.
But, no, nothing in particular going on, no drama bigger than the usual. I'm down to 113 days till I retire for good (see the post title) but no angst there--I'm beyond ready. I'm so tired of being the enemy and holding together my piece that even 113 days seems like an echoingly long hallway that I'm crawling in slow motion. So, gritting my teeth and plowing on. But nothing new there.
Without putting too fine a point on it, I've just kind of randomly been out and about, me and the Beneficiary and Bettina (although only occasionally at the same time). Kansas City, Oklahoma City, Louisiana, Kansas, etc. I just haven't had time or the necessary immediacy of interest to write here (or anywhere else for that matter).
Nothing personal, but real life has just sorta engaged me for awhile and I simply haven't gotten around to writing.
This, incidentally, is why I'd never be a good "author" in the book-writing sense. Never mind whether there's any talent or connection with a waiting audience -- the long-recognized (by me, anyway) fact is that I'm a lazy, lazy man, and when I'm not in the mood, I can sit in front of a keyboard till the end of time and will produce ZERO.
If I ever managed to produce a book, it would be (at best) a flash in the pan, mostly because I might or might not get around to writing another one. No discipline, you see, and trying to impose it has failed (at last count) 100% of the time for decades.
Gonna wrap this up and go and meet some peer group folk at a biker bar a couple of hours north in Oklahoma. They went to Sturgis and I (as always) didn't, and they've got everyone bailed out and back home and want to sit around and bullshit and swap war stories.
I'm good with that -- the temperatures will be cool with no wind and there be a full moon tonight over the Red River when I head back home...
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| Not The Red River - But You Get The Idea |
I'll be back to blogging regularly in a bit -- when the world stops being this immediate...
Wow 113! I'm in the 3000's, not that I particularly want to retire, but I do get TIRED. All these aches and pains and headaches and insomnia make for a sluggish me. Oh, not to mention the chemicals I ingest to try to counteract some of that. Anyway, I wish you an easy 113 (or whatever it is today ~ 106?). The thing about writing for me is that since I don't consider it a JOB, I don't want to struggle with it. If the words ain't flowing, I put away the laptop and read or watch a movie. So even though I have managed to write a couple books, it's all very sporadic and disorganized. Like maybe I'll have my book of long short stories finished in January 2023... or maybe October. I dunno!
ReplyDeleteNice to be "me" again, but I'm on my laptop...
DeleteYeah, Blogger kinda comes and goes on the ability to leave comments under the username. I've tried three or four times to track it down, but it somehow seems related to cell phones and computers with ad blockers of some sort, although this is variable. Eh, I've given up on trying to "fix" it, and have just decided that with a readership in the single digits (LOWER single digits), I can generally pick out who is who anyhow. Damned sure IS an annoyance, though.
DeleteI never thought I'd retire, not least because it never occurred to me for a second I'd live this long. But now that I'm here, I'm SO ready. I taught a class the other day in a selected small roomful of people who could benefit from one of the chunks of esoterica I've accumulated. I mentioned that this would likely be my last class as I was pulling the pin soon which seemed to leave at least some of them aghast. Before I left the room, I had an invitation to teach in another location, all expenses paid for three days for four hours of work next July, a job offer on the coast, and two requests for contact information so I can "consult".
DeleteI was polite. But, no. I'm done. Aside from the fact that I'm burned out, I'm more than aware that my capabilities and knowledge are perishable and already creeping past their use-by date. In a happy confluence of events, I'm way ready, my skills are way ready, and my actual capabilities are on the cusp of irrecoverably sliding down the other side of the peak. And I'm a realist. The fact is for all the angst amongst my crew and others, my walking away will leave about as much of a hole as pulling my hand out of a bucket of water. In six months (or less), it will be "Dusty WHO?"
And I quite like that.
What kind of job involves being the enemy? Cop? Irs official? Anyway congratulations on near retirement! Retirement is great, I just wish it didn't sound so uncool. Like, your relevance to this society is over, now go and grow petunias. Or hang out in biker bars. Much more interesting. I think one has to be up oneself to write a novel. It's like, sure, there's a billion out there... but people NEED to hear what I've got to say, I'm different and special! So maybe a disinclination to write one is a good sign!
ReplyDeleteOh and sorry, anonymous is Rose. Just hate filling in the little forms!
ReplyDeleteNo worries, I hate filling them in, too. As I told Paula (above) Blogger's pretty hit and miss at the best of times -- one of the up-sides to having somewhere between zero and only a bit above zero readers is that it's reasonably easy to pick out who is who even absent identification.
DeleteAssuming I mange to actually get to retirement without stepping on my own dick, which is a built-in feature of my personality and the work right up till the first retirement check shows up, I'll be in more of a position to talk about The Job, although never all of it. Not so much because of dramatic secret-squirrel stuff and more because of the fact that I'm old and have probably forgotten most of it anyhow. This doesn't even mention that as far as I can tell, the parts that remain are stone boring. Combine all that with what could charitably be called an "active" imagination, and the phrase "unreliable narrator of my own life" takes on new dimension.
I've often considered just telling everyone I'm a retired mid-level accountant from Deloitte's M&A (Mergers and Acquisitions) Division concerned with actuarial estimates of future value of corporate assets. I suspect that would narrow down any interest in hearing more and, should I get too chatty, it would be written off to a "Walter Mitty" moment, which may well be accurate in any event.
I "retired" in 2016 but not in any sort of pinnacle of professional achievement way but because they made a better offer than I expected to get come the next round of layoffs. After that I led a dramatically stupid life that left me both semi-broke and unmotivated to give a shit. And believe it or not that is as good or better a situation than for most people my age. Our age, I might say: I'll be 65 next summer. It's that now and then I think it'd be fun to still know something someone else will pay me to tell them, or how to do something so well someone will pay me to do it. Alas, my best work, my specialty as it were, mostly moved to Asia in the early 2010s and I lost interest in boning up on peripheral skill sets. These are now the golden years in which I work for peanuts, fiddle around with home improvement, chase divorcees, design and make clever little objets d'art, and occasionally work on my book, the story that Has To Be Told.
ReplyDeleteBeen there, done that.My direct boss just recently finished all his course-work for a doctorate in a more-or-less related field, and is going to be teaching at a university in his old home town and working on his dissertation when he pulls the pin. With his background he only needed two years to finish it up. I figured I could pull it off in three, four tops. I was on the verge of submitting the paperwork when it suddenly occurred to me: "What, dumbass, you're about 100 years old, right? So, you need to polish up your resume or something, is that it? No? Well, what do you need this for?"
DeleteAstonishing how relaxed my life got when I suddenly realized I could actually get on with it instead of spending it working my ass off for the next part. I've done my bit, thanks, and this IS the next part. Let some of those apparent 15-year-olds coming up through the ranks shoulder it. And it does need shouldered, but it turns out whether it is or not, it doesn't have to be ME anymore, if it ever did.
I'm just glad I figured it out when I did, the main regret being that I didn't sooner.