Man of La Mancha
My friend Ham of Bone, having received his sixty day notice eighty days ago, is now living la vida loco and is reveling in the freedom. He just called to offer the news and seemed in a bit of hurry - is there no man more busy than one fully alive? He received his severance, a very healthy 5-figure number, and given his frugality it should have some legs. He looks for jobs on Monster.com for the purpose of collecting unemployment, but the IT descriptions leave such a distaste that he says he'd rather frame houses.
I look at his grand experiment with conflicting emotions - a tinge of jealousy, a tad of relief. Vicariously I imagine that I would read to delirium, and write...would I write! I'd spend my days panning for bad poetry with a Guinness for coaxing.
Ah but prince Bone is not lolling about his day bed...
Ah, ha, my lord, this prince is not an Edward!
He is not lolling on a lewd day-bed,
But on his knees at meditation;
Not dallying with a brace of courtezans,
But meditating with two deep divines;
Not sleeping, to engross his idle body,
But praying, to enrich his watchful soul
Ham hews to a strict 8-5 schedule of reading and writing; his booklist includes philosophy, mythology and lawncare. The latter is not for any personal lawn hygiene, but for character-development for a screenplay which revolves around a failed landscaper. The mythology book is to attempt to write characters that will cross national, cultural boundaries. Wouldn't want to lose that Polynesian audience. He has so much of Don Quixote about him doesn't he?
*
Never durst poet touch a pen to write
Until his ink were temper'd with Love's sighs;
O, then his lines would ravish savage ears
(all quotes are Shakespeare)
No comments:
Post a Comment