Figuring it out
A friend wrote me the other day that he was going out for a long bike ride to figure out his life. His life. What would he do with his life?
He’s young, I thought, more importantly what will I do with my life?
Another friend who is about to retire said the whole notion is unnerving, to be entering a time when the years of making money are behind you.
I said embrace the new, and later was scolded for being a Polly Anna and not saying yeah, I bet that’s scary.
I was taken by the poems at the Saints & Sinners Festival that talked about the men who have died of AIDS, and I searched Tim Dlugos and read his poetry and felt a loss and did not even know him.
It made me think of Harvey, who dying of AIDS with his “family” around him, his mother a persona non grata not there, talked about being a “gum shoe” in his delirium. I liked him, I didn’t want him to die.
Do you know that massage therapists have recently been granted the right in the United States to massage breasts? I wonder what has taken so long. Why always just the back, I was wondering. The front is where all of my tension goes, my emotion accumulates, what I see in the mirror. I always ask for my stomach to be part of my massage. I would like my breasts and chest rubbed too. I had that several times in Bali by a lithe Thai woman or two who hopped on top of the table with incredible dexterity and made sure no muscle or part of me was untouched, unmassaged, left for dead. Imagine not having to wait for your annual pap to get a thorough breast exam.
Today is beautiful, cloudless sky, cool dry wind, and fast moving water in the bayou.