A strange and irresolute day. The light outside is soft and grey, temperate and still. It invites stillness, contemplation, time spent in bed looking at the wall and musing on efforts half accomplished. The hum of the laptop, my landlord calling after his dog down the street, the occasional deep throated whir as the air conditioning unit outside my window stirs itself to life. Sounds that serve to emphasize the stillness, light that only penetrates half of the living room and then seems to give up, leaving the far reaches in shadow.
Still no writing of any note. At least, nothing of a creative bent, though I am churning out freelance stuff like an autonomous machine. For the most part I stay on track, writing about the benefits of wearing this kind of shoe while playing tennis, or the most crucial piece of advice to keep in mind while squatting, or which workout is guaranteed to make you sweat. Sometimes, however, the absurdity of it all creeps over me, and I’ll churn out blog posts like the following:
There’s no need to cry, we can’t always be beautiful and tender and loved by the world, but sometimes, if you want it badly enough, if you’re willing to part your hair and look up at the sun, tears running down your cheeks, you can realize that yes, opportunities abound, the world is not circumscribed by madness but rather your own limitations, and that if you too want a shredded ripped core of deadly six packs then all you have to do is get physical.
Stop the yearning, the secret burning that consumes your heart, disgard the ultimate passions that play you false and leave you all alone at the midnight hour, and rather pick up a copy of the PX90 workout, which will help you burst your boundaries and leave the others alone and gaping in shock and dismay before you.
Or if you wish you could try a Shakeology beverage, fine and dandy, skip the brandy and add some blueberries because you know those are a superfruit. Adding something so nutritious to your diet will ensure that you too are in control, rolling smooth, laughing as the wind tosses your fine, lustrous hair.
Or give High Intensity Interval Training a try, that ultimate in ultimates, the ne plus ultra in cardio programs. It truly is delicious, and will leave you a regular Adonis, an Achilles of love and pleasure that the whole world will delight in and coo at your approach, for now and evermore! So what are you waiting for, get physical, physical!
When I start submitting such work I realize that I have to take a break, step back from the keyboard, go pour myself a lonesome jar of water and sit back in the shadows of the far reaches of my living room and listen to my landlord’s echoing cry of despair as his dog continues to ignore him. The minutes tick by, the hours hover like hummingbirds and then you blink and three have passed in quick succession. Outside the light grows dim, Cinco de Mayo passing in all its transient glory, and somewhere little Mexican girls in brightly colored dresses are on stage, smiling shyly at the cameras as they dance steps they have never danced before, instructed to them for this very occasion, Cinco de Mayo, Cinco de Mayo.
I’ve begun working on a book page, a webpage, a place to present my new novel. It’s half complete, crude in form and function but hinting and intimating with sly sidelong glances at what it will one day look like. Some day soon. It’s another attempt at promoting Le Spectacle Mouture, as they call it in French. Though, a friend of mine finished reading it yesterday, and told me over Gchat that he loved it. None stop excitement throughout, he said. Which sounds pretty good?