Friday, September 13, 2019

I barely have time for myself anymore!

This manifestly tedious day is only more outrageously discredited by my patent self-indulgence. I at last have succeeded to that triumph of activity to proclaim I have virtually nothing to do! Laughable though it may sound there nonetheless resonates a particle of discernment in the otherwise mocking tale. If I were to confess a haunting fear which has forever propelled itself within my being it is the preoccupation with accomplishment. Accordingly I have allowed commercialism to sustain its approbation.  So enthused was I with the object and purpose of that conviction that I seldom explored (much less discovered) the alternative revelation surrounding "that magic feeling, nothing to do, nowhere to go". What I have learned however is that neither project is simpler than the other. Unconditioned as I am to observation (as opposed to performance) concentration is essential to surmount even the most inconsequential disruption of one's customary field of passage.

It is in some respects - at least beyond the strict realm of profit and tangible enterprise - a lesser challenge to devote oneself solely to aims and consumption. There is normally a certain reward for achievement of objective. Permitting oneself to be unpersuaded by design is not so readily managed. My unremarkable investment today began with a casual cull of the latest edition of Country Life. While I regret that my e-copy of the magazine doesn't permit me to conduct instant on-line searches of material arising from the articles, there is unquestionably much I have garnered from the literature - historical, artistic, scientific, political and naturally proprietary (both moveable and immoveable). I say this not merely parenthetically. By contrast my reading of the History of Law in Canada is not so provocative - not because it isn't incisive but because it reads too much like a reference book. This should not be unexpected in light of the erudition of the authors who easily approach the pedantic model. This contrast with the relatively more topical magazine is illustrative of the evolution of my personal appetite and general declension - a transition I might expiate by advancing the entitlement to entertainment with the lapse of time.

Assuming the correctness of the ancient philosophic principle regarding cause and effect, and notwithstanding the subtlety of its expression, permit me to engage in a rudimentary illustration of my thesis by acquainting my reader with the trite detail of my sequel this afternoon. An equal measure of my agenda arose from what I didn't want to do as what I did want to do. The reason (may I say, the "cause") is that until my recent eye surgery settles I prefer to escape possible risk of distortion which might for example arise from my customarily preferred activity - bicycling. Given my history of catastrophic bicycle accidents (one going back only two years, another as many as 45 years) I am reluctant to invoke unscheduled disaster. I admit this salty account affords me the pretence of indolence but I urge its more deferential purpose.

Thus relieved of the athletic obligation I willingly succumbed to a protracted breakfast which included sliced green apple, bran, almond milk, Thompson raisins, raw cashews and espresso coffee. Note however the lack of maple syrup or honey. The gathering intelligence about the addictive element of sugar is no overstatement!  Lately I have sought to disguise the abuse through its ostensibly "natural" qualities such as the removal of toxins and cleansing of the immune system.  Last winter I landed upon Georgia raw honeycomb as a complete escape!

My progressively tranquil morning broadened into early afternoon to include an on-line investigation of a company with which we have some business. After contacting the central office of the organization I was referred to one who is purportedly a local representative.  She however had already departed to start her weekend.  I decided to send an email instead of leaving a telephone message. The enquiry is of a general nature but one for which we want a response to establish clarity.

This marginally productive pursuit elevated my context correspondingly. Over the gloss of immateriality I had draped a veneer of achievement. Though I can't imagine you will care, the undertaking reflects a degree of control which had previously escaped our destiny. I am not one to rely upon the assurance that "it'll all work out".  Instead my obsessiveness drives me to seek the reins of the plough to ensure (or at the least participate in) the fulfillment of what is expected.

At this juncture of my day I shamefully lapsed into the habit of driving my automobile.  Strangely the endeavour is historically cathartic.  When for example years ago I spent three months recovering from a six-hour open-heart surgery it was customary for me to drive aimlessly about the countryside for no apparent reason other than the drive itself.  I had nowhere to go in particular.  It certainly wasn't about grocery shopping or coffee or even the autumn leaves.  I simply needn't to drive the car to detach myself from anxiety and to drain the spiritual pipes. While the current objective is not similarly characterized, it nonetheless imparts the same relief. I have already decided that if the time comes when I am no longer qualified to drive an automobile I shall purchase a motorized tricycle which at least enables me to move about.  Considering the variety of devices people have employed over the years to travel around it is hardly peculiar to adopt one that accommodates the desire. This small ambition is clearly one among others which has succeeded to replace the indignity of being otherwise "usefully" unemployed. It is all part of personal demise and the reformation of one's capital. I won't say it is inspiring but for my part anyway, fulfilling.

Manifest indolence can be as fraught with deceit as any other more energetic plot. Some exploits are best left unadulterated. At the grocery store - where I had intended only to buy green apples - I heightened the scope of my duty by plucking from the warming oven some precooked chicken legs and prime rib. I speculated that I had awakened a hitherto uncharted treasure. Such is the allure of fat and oils. But the resource proved to be far less delectable than anticipated. Once again I was pointedly reminded that my current monotony is preferable to indigestible assortment.

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