“So now I'm kind of wondering where
all this will go next. It's like I've been through some big event,
like a festival, a big show or a huge banquet; I'm stuffed and tired,
a little over stimulated and I'm thinking I am satisfied. Satisfied
is an odd kind of word, I know what it should mean but I feel I'm
just stretching it a little to cover the application here. I suppose
I'm satisfied but I know fine well that there is always going to be
something else, pushing it's way in just to steal that feeling.
Unexpected, maybe a bit unwelcome, jostling with other things and
struggling for impact and success and starting the whole thing of
again. Perhaps I'm played out, perhaps it's steak and eggs and heavy
duty protein drinks and build up time. Glasses of milky stout and
beetroot and wholesome stuffing and ruthless exercising, is that what
you do? Still part of me wants to lie back and just float, float in a
sunny careless haze, down streams of low expectations, anonymity,
invisibility, following tiny shadows in the sun. Here today and
drifted another hundred yards tomorrow. Catch me if you can? You
certainly will because I'll be going nowhere and there you go, you've
caught me.”
Sheila slapped my face. I almost fell
from the porch bench, I was aware of the warm timber and flies and
bees and insect noises, I stopped the procrastination. “I'm fed up
with your self searching bullshit, get a job, get some money, sort
yourself out. You last job's done, ok, maybe it was satisfying but
that's all history. Go and start something new.”
The playful slap hurt, the words were
all I expected, in this business the jobs come, the jobs go and
whatever money there is just disappears in some spiral event that
usual centres around the things that Sheila wants to do. I reached
down and clicked open a beer and smiled at her. She was staring away
into the distance, avoiding my eyes and doing her passive aggressive
thing, trying to turn me back around.
“You know Sheila, you're damn well
right, I'm going to finish this cold beer and head right out and see
what the opportunities are downtown.” She laughed and slapped me
again, a little beer spilled and we play wrestled on the bench. We
were both giggling and tickling and then we stopped and just lay
still and held each other close saying nothing. Over in the field I
heard a big diesel engine running, in the trees crows were angry at
something and the insects stayed busy avoiding being eaten. Sheila
was hot and sticky in her work jeans and cheesecloth. Her breathing
was low and pretty and I liked that. I settled to stay still and she
did too, on the warm bench. So I just stared up into the afternoon
sun and dreamt away a little more. I still wasn't feeling satisfied,
I wasn't feeling anything I could describe. Maybe that's the trouble
with my trouble, my chronic common trouble, I just don't have the
right words to describe it but still I know it's really there.
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