Sideways Snow

A cold one tonight.  As the bus works from the highwayman, as AI ponders the McGarry job, as Al ponders Dan Bern, as S’s phone encourages the text and you ready the Frontier missive, as the first return to the Split Crow in years presents an old bartender and new Domus, as Amari evades tackles, as the worn shoes on the bus recall the Birkenstocks, as RR holds a no sale Black Friday, as the snow falls sideways in its most beautiful (photogenic as synonym? Yes!) fashion, as Carlsen and Caruana prepare the last two games in London...  as as as.

As the Associate quits.

Noooooo.

Or maybe...

Of course it is not good, in a sense.  But as you listen to yourself discuss the unlimited benefits and the lack of creativity in imagining the scope of opportunities and the ease at which such things can be pulled off, it does strike you.  Despite the malaise, how could you really trigger such conversations in the next year?  The AI point, what better situation are you looking for, work-wise.  And lifestyle-wise, will running away (again) help?  Or simply prolong the malaise?

Notable evening, after the conversation with her.  Wonder if you had just made sure about those Wimbledon tickets, or something else.  Too late.  Oh well.

For her maybe, but actually that surprising decision puts so much in a shifting light.  She, and the other flighters to NSP.  The lack of imagination and time away in their changes.  Putting your own situation in context.  Your freedom in a magic hue.  To think of Arch not having a day off since the return in May...

And the stocks falling always reminding that all that loss is easily made up by staying additional months, which don’t need much by way of work.  How easy the work seemed to come, after, as you waited.

Thrown for a loop, I am.  Thinking back to yesterday, the knap’s Nineteen Hundred and Eighty Five.  How important that sail is next summer.  Maybe I’m ready to wake up a bit.  Heh.

Damp, drizzly November

The elation of Gill and Goff last evening makes way in time for the darkness of this Tuesday.  Falling stocks and black skies.  Dad checked out of his home for the first time, if only for a week.  And the ability to rouse yourself out of bed or, once at work, to put the mind to the tasks at hand which pay your salary... not present. 

Enough of this - waking and feeling as though there is nothing to be accomplished with the day.  Stuck.  Ugh.

Write your way out of it?  Seems the best course of action.  Tomorrow, the day after, into the MFA application, and then the start of an overdue conversation.  Shall next month be the last of the boozy lunches as a lawyer?  Shall you wander out into the wilderness, with a laptop and a bank account and a smile only? 

Por que no?  It is time, McMahon.  That 40th hour approacheth...  Be ready for it when it does.

“An Absurd Gamble”

Line of the night, from the author of the dystopian timetravel novel that unsurprisingly did not walk away with the prize.  But another enjoyable fundraiser in the Atlantica, in that room off to the side, the dressed up potatoes, the front row seat, even the raffle victory for A.  A year gone, remember how dominant the Europa was on your mind at the time.  Now returned, many of the same dreams still ahead on that horizon.  In that light, great listening to people sitting around and talking about books, inspiring really, and further nod to light thee on thy way to Mantua, in the career choice.  What might next year’s prize-night bring?  Stay tuned.

A postscript also, in honour of Mr. Jared Goff.  28 points required, and after some fumbling and stumbling he managed to come through in the end to keep the playoff dreams alive.  Speaking of absurdities, it is funny how such a thing can bring happiness.  Such is the world.

Visit Rwanda?

From the moment the Reds accepted that random sponsorship for the shirtsleeves, it had an air of inevitability...  Imagine, the idea of such a visit.  Car rental and drive through Nyungwe Forest, stay at the eco-centre in the King's Palace.  Relaxing on Lake Kivu.  Possibly even attempting to swing a trip to Wem-ber-lee on the return?  Aye.  It could be just enough activity combined with Mentos and Rialto style outings to be a memorable one.  Much to ponder.  Maybe the roadtrip book will aid in the thought process in terms of the travel...  I like the pure element of "creation" associated with such ventures - something out of nothing.  Dream on it, as you ponder the beckoning of those shirtsleeves another night.

Anagnorisis

Wonderful how the clients love the travel wanderings, and the bumper sticker to be provided to the other side today an excellent "conversation piece".  Already half-way through the month, amazingly, no revelatory ideas on the electric side and the focus remains on the MFA.  In that line, fun dreams and storytelling this morning, where the conclusion flowed naturally out of the ether: 

"Funny, I just woke up out of the blue from a dream in which I was at the airport and my flight was oversold.  Instead of asking me whether I wanted compensation to take a later flight, the attendant at the airline counter asked if I wanted to fly one of their smaller planes to my destination because it was my birthday.  They did not mind in the least that I knew noting about how to fly, so I just went along.  No problem hopping in, taking off, lots of twirling about in the sky, until I realized I didn't know which direction to go.  So I landed back in the same spot, and go back to the counter and tried to take a later commercial flight, but instead I got persuaded it would be best to take another small plane, but this time they would give me a map (which was attached to the key and made up mostly of bright colours and arrows rather than words) and told me I would have to make two separate fueling stops.  From that arrival point, I would then be able to catch a commercial flight from the final airport home.  It all seemed quite off, and what was also strange was that I was traveling with a genderless companion who had no face or voice, and simply came along in the small 2-seater plane both times, fearless, nodding, as if all was normal, and what was I waiting for, why was I standing around?  Just as the second plane I was piloting took off, knowing not what to do, still laughing at how absurd yet excellent this novel situation was, I woke up.  Saw your texts.  You don't have to be perfect all the time for your kids to be proud of you, and frustration at low points often proves the best fodder for positive changes and self-deprecating humour.  The call of the wild and the new will never leave you, there will always be pockets of freedom to pursue amidst your responsibilities, and part of what you are doing now is ensuring in a real way that new and vibrant souls get to one day experience the same pinnacles of freedom that you are aspire to (and have/will obtain again, randomly, at any moment, even in small ways, which book to read and which cocktail to mix...) and when your kids do achieve that, just watching it, knowing it, gives you a separate type of happiness that will wrap you in an entirely different warmth than your own tastes of freedom (or bourbon).  All of which is really to say: We are growing old.  Increasingly we have to pick our moments of freedom amidst adult obligation.  We all do.  But that's okay.  Because the fire within you won't ever go out.  Keep your towel close, and Don't Panic."

The title word, from the Greek, refers to the moment in a play or otherwise when a character makes a critical discovery.  (Think of B'elanna's sudden reversal).  Are we at that point with the thoughts for the future, the need to escape the rate hearing reiterations, and to travel lightly?  For now the fun of planning for 2019 begins, perhaps a slight increase in the Vegas odds, and some African winter daydreams as well.  Mmmmmmmm.

Plan 40

Lazy weekend, which seemed at times like an attempt to see how much of it you could spend doing absolutely nothing, lying around, alone in thought.  Answer: too much.  Heh.

But in such moments lie the formulation of future plans... the MFA, divided neatly (in your mind) into the travel memoirs and the unfolding 2020 drama.  Pourquoi pas. 

August - Halifax
September-December - (Tibet/Nepal?)
January - Toronto (one week Carib?)
February - Iowa/New Hampshire/South Carolina
March - Georgia/Alabama/Louisiana/Illinois (Central America?)
April - PA
May - Derby/Indiana

etc...

I wonder.

Noah... What's an ark?

Our man was on point in Halifax.  Bali stories and Indian accents to great effect.  Good times with K to see him, apartment cleaned, and flights down to Austin worked beautifully.  A just-right kind of trip, enough time to catch up with Arch (over dere) and also to take a bit of a road trip in a preview of what the 2020 MFA could look like.  The more I think of that, the more I like the sound of it, while also combining some of the other travel memoir writings.  Here's to hope indeed.

The preparation is key.  And on that note, after a ridiculous pantsdrunk kind of night following the returns, it is time to reinstitute the annual November cleanse and try and get the 7 minute workout going anew.  No compelling reasons requiring the booze, so can you institute a moratorium of at least a month in duration, with some exercise to begin on the 8th?

The other detox is a twitter-based one.  You have the campaign books already ordered and ready to read, an office to clean, and some stories still left to write up from the summer and beyond.  Let's see if we can aim the focus in that direction between now and Vegas.  Ideally you are looking to get the body and mind in shape for a hopeful trip.  If that fails, there is always February, and some days/nights in Mombasa.  Mmmmmmm.  2019 looking like it shall be a good one.