Sunday! Quite possibly the best day ever invented. What would your ideal Sunday entail? Mine would entail using words like "entail," taking an early morning walk around a lake or through some enchanted forest full of magical woodland creatures, coming home to my yurt which has, for some reason, a sunroom. I'd sit in the sunroom with The New York Times and a coffee while Anthony Bourdain and Tilda Swinton whip me up a breakfast of eggs. Probably egg-in-a-hole. Egg-in-a-hole-in-a-sunroom-in-a-yurt. Tony, Tilda, and I would then sit down with our eggs and Bloody Marys and discuss politics, art, food culture, and rock-n-roll. After brunch, in a faint haze from the cocktails and a fierce buzz from the coffee, I'd kiss both sweethearts on the cheek and be out the door again. I'd spend the rest of the day exploring the outside and the inner self. I'd read poetry, I'd write poetry, I'd eat poetry for a late lunch while on a log by the lake. Poetry-in-a-hole. Maybe once or twice I'd get lost, but I'd find my way back home to the yurt-with-a-sunroom before sundown. Tony and Tilda would be in the kitchen AGAIN cooking up something or other -- can't decide what right now -- maybe an Indian dish? We'd eat our tikka masala while sipping/guzzling Pinot Gris and watching the sun do whatever it does in the evening. Set? Disappear? Become shy and hide for a handful of hours? Tony, Tilda, and I (known around town as The Tarot Trio because we read tarot cards for extra income) put on some funky ass world music and paint each other's faces and bodies and the walls of the yurt. Around midnight, we fall into a deep sleep brought on by paint fumes. We spend the rest of the night cuddling and dreaming of abandoned amusement parks full of ghosts and games we'll never win. So there you have it. My ideal Sunday.
Now onto something completely different. No transition. I could transition by saying, "Now that you know my ideal Sunday, here is a look into my ideal job." Okay, let's go with that transition. What-ever! So my ideal job: One where I am outside and alone for most of the time. You already knew that. I reflect on the times when I've worked with people, be they the paying public or the preschool demons (joke! they were lovely! most of the time! sometimes! depends on the kid!), and the times I liked the best was when I was off alone doing some task, whether that was stocking shelves or stapling papers. I don't want to become a slave to mindless tasks, but I do enjoy having something to accomplish and having the alone time to accomplish it. This is so boring. What I'm trying to get at is that maybe I'll become a mail carrier??? Yes, an interpretive park ranger would be rad as shit, but... But nothing, I guess. I guess I can look into both professions! Okay, so park rangers definitely interact with people. I should keep that in mind. And I will. I will keep a lot of things in this mind of mine, yet let very little of it out. Yes, these constant ramblings of mine are merely 2% of what's going on inside. And I'm probably overestimating here.
I hit a wall. The swig of caffeine has disappeared. I have nothing left to offer you right now! Except for pictures. I can always offer you pictures and a quote by Cliff Clavin, everybody's favorite mail carrier. "They did a study between postal workers and chimpanzees. They proved that chimps were 32% slower. Of course, they were better with public relations." Ba dum chh.