Tuesday, December 29, 2015

It's Cool to be Conscious

I keep misreading my blog title as "It's Cool to be Couscous." I suppose one could also say it's Rockin' to be Rice or Bitchin' to be Basmati, but being conscious and awake is my goal every present moment. It's too cold being comatose. I'd rather dance through the flames of life, than lay down and surrender to age and aches. I could have entitled this post "The Post Holiday Blues," but I'm not falling for that again. Besides we still have New Year's to get through. "Get through" makes it sound like a jail sentence, but it's just work.

Couscous is not Concious


This Friday -- New Year's Day -- we will have our annual 20%-Off-Everything-in-the-Store!! sale. It's just a ploy to get customers in the store, but it sometimes works. Bookstores cannot really afford to have sales, because we barely make a profit to begin with. Even Amazon has yet to make a profit, but their aim is not to sell books -- their aim is to crush any and all competition, and profit from your personal data simultaneously.

All is not lost. The days have started to get longer, although the sun still refuses to shine. Bastard. There was some snow spitting out of the clouds yesterday, accompanying the cold rain. I had no confidence that it would stick. A snowy blanket over the neighborhood would sooth and calm me. The world would seem cleaner and quieter for a brief time, and then -- like anything worthwhile -- it melts away, leaving behind mud and grime. Spring is at least three or four moons away, and even then it is sometimes too shy to reveal itself until May or June.

I've heard tell that adventure is not all it's cracked up to be. This is probably the same source that says rich people have the same problems as everybody else. Adventure is in the whip of the beholder, I suppose. For some people, just being a husband and father is adventure enough. Others want to hit it big in Vegas and paint the town red, or maybe burnt sienna. Stepping out is never advised. One must eliminate desire and any hankering for the danger. A life of quiet desperation is the overarching theme of modern man.

As I get older, I start to feel the ache of all those lost adventures. I've put my whip and fedora away, in exchange for a book and an armchair. But my mind is still is still trekking over hill and dale, and even moving through dimensions. I have a wonderful son, who not only fills my life with parental adventure, but he reminds me of my priorities in life. No skipping off to the casino with the rent money. No shaking my booty with the straw-haired widow next door until the cows come home.

So far I've avoided the dreaded cold that is currently moving through our family. Maybe it's my dietary regimen of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, or the fact that I walk to and from work every day.  I've seen the ghost of the sun through the clouds the last few days, but maybe we need some kind of sunshine seance to bring that nuclear furnace back into our good graces. Sunshine cures everything, well...except maybe skin cancer.

Sunshine, peeking through the tree tops.

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