Rest For The Wicked
Posted by The Zen Cueist on January 23, 2009
I haven’t been blogging lately because I am buried under a great, steaming heap of profitable work. But now I am coming up for air.
Kevin Savetz, an acquaintance from the Internet Press Guild, has started a new venture called Tiplet.com. Basically, his blog entries are billboards upon which Google ads hang, and he makes money when people click on the ads. He wants to erect lots of billboards quickly, and that’s where I and three other IPGers come in.
I have written 17 articles of 400 to 500 words each in the past 72 hours. That’s a lot of words and each article requires a bit of research, testing of techniques, and editing of screenshots. Still, I can knock one out in about half an hour. At that rate, I’m making over $140,000 a year. Kevin pays via Paypal and picks up the transaction fees so I get the full amount. He even pays on Monday and Friday. I told him that allows me to fit two work weeks into every 7 days.
“If I pay you daily, does that mean you can do 7 times as much work?” he asked facetiously. “I don’t get the math.”
“Try it and see,” I dared him. “It’s a Zen thing, not subject to causation or explanation in words.”
I am going to write another 15 articles for Kevin before Monday, his next payday. Today is Friday. It may seem that I am a workaholic, slaving away through the precious weekend when others are out enjoying life. But that is far from the case.
“I do not cut my life up into days but my days into lives, each day, each hour, an entire life.” – Juan Ramon Jimenez
I do not cut my life up into work weeks and weekends. I do not have “business hours” and other hours. I am as likely to be working at 3:00 a.m. on Sunday as at any other time. I am as likely to be playing at 11:00 a.m. on Wednesday as at any other time. This patternless pattern of my life is also Zen.
“When you are tired, sleep. When you are hungry, eat.”
When I am industrious, I work. When I am not industrious, I play. Thus, I am always doing what I am supposed to be doing, always in harmony with the flow of Life. I am highly productive when at work because I am not suffering the unfulfilled Desire to play. Likewise, when I play I get and give more pleasure because I am not feeling guilty about not working. I do everything Mindfully, with devotion of my full Attention to it. That is the key to living fully every moment.
The result of my seemingly “undisciplined work ethic” is that I have contributed 40% of the articles Kevin has published so far, nearly twice my “fair share” out of four writers. Kevin said he was a bit worried that Tiplet.com might “become the Hakala show.” I offered to use several noms de plume to provide the illusion of variety. But Kevin wants authentic variety, so I am helping him get it.
Yesterday, I referred another writer to Kevin. That’s unusual in the highly competitive world of free lance writing. But there is more work to be done per month than even I can do, and the writer needs money quickly. “Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle,” as my dear Minister of Doing Well by Doing Good, Randy Cassingham, is fond of saying.
Also, I plan to take a short vacation from Tiplet.com to let Kevin’s content editor catch up on the backlog of my unpublished work and let my contribution ratio shrink a bit. Another client who has been in a months-long “reorganization” is re-opening the floodgates of new writing assignments today. I will be equally busy with work of a different nature and pay scale for the next week or so.
It is not time to work while work is in transition today, so I am going to play with Special Angel Brooklyn. She will pick me up at noon. We will lunch at the Buckhorn Exchange, Colorado’s oldest restaurant founded in 1893. Colorado liquor license number “1″ hangs upon its wall. Then we will go to Brook’s favorite head shop, Smoke Signals, to buy me a smoking pipe and perhaps some other “tobacco” accesssories.
I am going to take up the smoking of marijuana to replace the prescription meds I take for bipolar disorder. I want to eliminate my dependence upon doctors for relief from its symptoms, and I want a more natural remedy for depression and hypomania. This ought to prove amusing at first.
I have smoked weed once in the past 15 years, back in August. One hit and I was literally staggering sideways, giggling uncontrollably. Basement geneticists have made great strides since I was in high school.
Brook is simply beside herself at the thought of getting me high. “We will have my kind of Adventure! I will show you my own Zen!’ she swore. I asked her for a price on some “medium-quality” weed but she replied, “I only smoke high-quality. Quality over quantity, except when it comes to sex and then I want both.” That’s my Special Angel!
I am looking forward to sharing Brook’s daily religious sacrament for the first time as eagerly as I might anticipate our wedding night. My greatest pleasure is getting to know her more intimately, and weed is a major component of Brook’s philosophy. This will be like great sex without the mess or noise.
Brook and I have not seen each other in 24 days, since New Year’s Eve. That’s a bit longer than I had in mind when I wrote, “We meet often enough that the warmth of our meeting burns brightly until the next one. We meet seldom enough that I look forward to each meeting eagerly, like Festivus.” This meeting should be special in several ways.
First, Brook has said that she wants to tell me some things! Ordinarily, she prefers that I learn about her by observing her. But she wants to talk about a “theory” of hers that “isn’t really a theory” and share with me “an important story from my life timeline.” I am really looking forward to being the passive, listening Yin in our Yin Yang communication network for a change.
Second, I have two birthday gifts to give Brook. The first is a belt that had to be returned for resizing; I got her waist size but she wears belts around her hips. The second is a book given to me by a Buddhist leader that is tailor-made for my little snow bunny: Surfing the Himalayas: A Spiritual Adventure
Third, I hope to obtain a tiny lock of Brook’s hair. I want to tape it to the back of the Lady and the Unicorn pendant I wear in place of Unity’s. Unity is the purest Dancer I have ever met, but she is not the Unicorn’s Lady. Brook is, and her hair belongs over my heart always. Brook is reluctant to cut her hair even for me, but I think I can coax this Loving Act out of her.
I don’t know how long this afternoon’s frolicking will last. I don’t want it to end, but I do want to get to Shotgun Willie’s before 7:00 p.m. to see Charity, a Dancer new to my life who has Angel potential. She texted me this morning that she hopes I can come in because she has something “awesome” to tell me.
Now it is time to prepare for Brook’s arrival. I will update this post tomorrow with details of how my Desires came to be fulfilled or how I suffered their unfulfillment.
Update: Jan. 27
OK, I didn’t get around to updating this post “tomorrow”. But here we go:
Brooklyn didn’t set her alarm and so ran a little late. It didn’t matter, I just called the Buckhorn and moved up our reservation half an hour.
Brook looked sweetly hot, as usual, in a thin but cozily fuzzy zippered hoody and jeans. I loved her shoes, white with lime green accents. Her hair smelled of shampoo as I held her close and long out on the fire escape that leads to my back door. It was so good to see and touch her again!
She loved the book and was happy to get the belt back. I showed her the collage of her photos that I made to serve as my laptop’s wallpaper:
This collage serves as my laptop's wallpaper.
I then took Brook to the living room and showed her Unity’s lock of hair, which was taped to the base of my Unicorn Horn. I lifted a pair of scissors from Artemis’ altar and said, “Such a tiny thing is all I ask of you.”
Couldn’t close the deal right then and there, but Brook said she’s getting her hair cut soon and I can have some of the trimmings. That will be perfect! I hope she brings me enough to stuff a teddy bear.
We fired up Brook’s pipe on the way to the Buckhorn and I took one cautious hit. Special Angel inhaled the rest of the bowl. By the time we reached the restaurant ten minutes later, I was unsteady on my feet.
“Is this it?” she asked as we pulled up to 10th and Osage. “I used to see this restaurant when I rode the light rail down to school, and I’ve always wanted to go here!”
I love it when I make dreams come true.
Our table wasn’t ready so I took Brook on a tour of this historic landmark. She marveled serenely at the animal trophies, ancient firearms, chaps, spurs, photographs of hunting parties and famous people, and other mementos that blanket the walls. I spent most of my time gazing rapturously at the face of The Goddess in Brook, which wore no makeup that day.
She looked different from her usual heavily made-up appearance that the dim light in the Penthouse Club requires. She looked much younger, barely 15; plainer, more human, more approachable and humble. I am glad I got to see this aspect of Brook because I Desire to know every aspect of her.
Our table still wasn’t ready so we stepped outside for cigarettes. There, Brook told me her important story.
When her father died seven years ago, Brook was devastated by depression and anxiety. She was prescribed several medications including 200 mg/day of Zoloft, a pretty high dose. The meds left her a zombie who didn’t disturb anyone but barely functioned. She gave that up soon and took up weed in place of manufactured drugs. It’s working for her. I accept that, although I don’t think Brook realizes that she’s addicted to weed and will remain so until she lays her father to rest.
I asked Brook what made her want to be a doctor, guessing that her father’s death had something to do with it, and her answer surprised me. She likes blood and the circulatory system! She watches avidly as the needle slips into her arm when she gives blood or needs a test. Special Angel is a bit vampiric, it seems. Which gives me a crazy idea for a future adventure.
We will go get blood tests and buy a marriage license at City Hall. Two copies, I hope. We won’t actually use the license, of course. But they will look great hanging on our walls. If Tyler, Brook’s boyfriend, gets out of line she can just point to the license and say, “Watch it, or I’m off with Dave!”
When we were seated, Brook ordered the hearty “GRAMMA FANNY’S POT ROAST SANDWICH, The specialty of the Buckhorn since 1893. The finest Colorado beef brisket, slow cooked, thick sliced and served with pan gravy on pumpernickel bread.” She said she hadn’t eaten all morning in anticipation of this meal. I chose one of the day’s specials: lamb chops on polenta. We each ordered soft drinks and settled down to talk.
We talked of Brook’s school plans, which are on hold right now. We talked of the Dancing business, which is in the doldrums thanks to a sour economy. (Three of my Dancer friends have been evicted since October. It tears my heart up.) Brook said she has a lead on a job as an eye doctor’s assistant, paying $15/hour plus benefits. It would be “not too big a pay cut” and steady pay to boot. I’m sure she’ll get it, although I have no idea what the qualifications are.
We talked of Tyler and my Desire to “be him” – to be the man Brook loves most and most often. I don’t envy Tyler, for one can only envy what another posssesses and nobody possesses Brook. Likewise, I am not jealous of Brook because one can only be jealous of what one possesses. It’s just an unfulfillable Desire that I must release somehow or continue suffering. I feel the “how” is by paying full Attention to who I am and the special relationship I have with Brook, not who I wish I was and the relationship I wish we had.
Nearly two hours passed in quiet conversation, as I occasionally stroked Brook’s arm and face or played with her fingers. I asked her if I “get too mushy at times” and she reluctantly admitted I do. It’s good to know even that fact about my Special Angel’s feelings towards me.
Around 3:00 p.m. we headed for Smoke Signals, and I learned some more about Special Angel:
- She has a very specific giggle that means, “How do I tell Dave not to do that without hurting his feelings?”
- She doesn’t appreciate public displays of affection in general, not just from me. I promised to do my PDA privately from now on, and that is cool with Brook.
- Brook said she has felt a “special connection” to me since we first met. I’ve felt it too. That’s wonderful but not surprising. We have known each other since at least 557 BCE, when she was a priestess at Delphi and I was Delphyne, the dead serpent who evoked her prophetic trances. Brook’s not too sure about that, but she has no other explanation for this feeling of instant intimacy.
At Smoke Signals, I got a lesson in glass pipes. After much discussion of my infantile tolerance, price, and features such as initial coloration and probable color-changing, we settled on this $20 number:
I like the rose-gold color and translucence of this pipe, and its compact shape. Brook says it will turn prettier as it is smoked.
Brook took quite some time choosing a larger bud grinder for herself. I asked newbie questions that made Brook and the clerk laugh, like, “Why can’t I just use a cheese grater or a spice mill?” Well, $50 seemed a bit excessive for such a simple device. I learned much more about the features, feeding, and care of grinders later. Like everything else that people Desire, they make a really Big Deal out of grinding buds.
Brook got a phone call as we drove away from Smoke Signals. I heard her say, “Yeah, I’ll be there in about half an hour.”
“No!” I exclaimed, but then bit my tongue. My weed was not the only delivery that Brook had to make that day. But I was Desiring to spend time with her at my Home, smoking weed and hearing her speak some more. It was not to be.
We pulled up outside of my Home and swapped cash for weed. “Give me the biggest bud.” “Of course!” Then Brook emptied her smaller bud grinder and gave it to me. It works great for the tiny quantities I require!
I hugged, kissed, and caressed Brook’s Angelic face one more time, saying “I love you” as I opened the car door.
“I love you, too,” she replied, and I froze with one foot out of the car.
“Do you realize that’s the first time you’ve said that?” I asked.
“Is it?” she smiled.
“I’d love to hear it again. Goodbye, Special Angel.” And I went on my way.
Last night, I got another indication that Brook is feeling more comfortable sharing her feelings with me. I mentioned in a text message that I proposed a crazy date on MySpace (see marriage license above). She replied,
“I would prefer that you not use ‘date’ because it isn’t. I have a serious boyfriend I date. We hang out.”
I was nonplussed because to me a date is when you get together with a woman and go have fun, while guys “hang out” together. But I texted back,
“‘It doesn’t really matter,’ as you like to say. We will have appt not date. Same number of letters.”
“Hahahaha, ok,” she responded.
After thinking about it for a while I texted Brook again:
“Light bulb ON!! Dating is what people do shortly before they fuck. Gotcha.”
“:)” was all she replied. I get the feeling I missed something that Brook doesn’t think is worth explaining to me. She’s probably right.
But I definitely have a date with Charity today!
We have been star-crossed since our first meeting ten days ago. I went to Shotgun Willie’s last Monday, Tuesday, and again Monday when she was supposed to work. Monday she had some sort of “accident” and didn’t come in. Tuesday, her elder son had a high fever and needed a doctor (walking “ammonia”). Yesterday, she could not get a babysitter. I wasn’t frustrated but I was bemused. What did these impediments mean?
Turns out they meant that I am supposed to visit Charity at her Home, not work. She invited me over and sent her address in Arvada. I could not make it that afternoon but we agreed on 10:30 a.m. today. The plan is to watch “Judge Judy” and “The People’s Court” together. Very romantic, if done properly.
I the proper ingredients. First, I have our astrological compatibility reports, which indicate we will have communication problems but we will be good for each other. Second, I have a romantic brunch: bagels, lox, cream cheese, and champagne. Mixing that with astrology and court TV should be interesting!
I look forward to meeting this Angel and her little cherubim. More when it’s happened.
