Wednesday, April 1, 2009

There’s a lot of luck that falls my way. That’s not to say it’s all good, but that does happen too. Most of the time it is hard to decipher which it is. Chance, both heureux and it’s sibling malheureux, have a way of looking so similar that they are often hard to tell apart.

I have a wife, she’s a bitch. I have a girl friend, she’s getting fat. I have two kids, they don’t need me. Like I said, it’s hard to find the good without the bad, and it’s like that with luck too. In the end it’s how you want to see it. My wife’s a bitch, but I don’t have to see her anymore. My womans getting fatter, but her ass is getting sweeter, and the kids, well, they are forging their independence. In the right light anything can be good lucky, but some days the light appears differently, not wanting change. It seems cast with a grey that is hard to navigate by.

Yet it is a light none the less, one I’ve always been drawn towards. It’s the twi-night light. Where that grey beacons originate from. This cast of shady light where even the firmest of perceptions can be altered this way and that. It often makes it hard to get a fix on what to do. Never the less, things need doing.

It was this color that I woke to today. Wednesday present. Grey color cast over all. What is that lead color that has replaced the gold. Not raining, but slick with wet. An imperceptible fog covering everything. I am presented with sensations as quick and profound as sunny and blue. My days are not fixed, it was part of the aleatory contract I signed. The color of the morning changes my entire day, but what about my disposition, what to do with that.

I decide to stay in bed. In fact I had half decided the night before when I stayed up to an unreasonable hour. But when I woke it wasn’t exactly raining, one could say misting at most. The rains had been predicted and yesterday as I was leaving work, when I told the vigneron I would keep my eye on the meteo and if it wasn’t raining would report an hour early at eight, I really believed it. I was so sure of the forecast or a reasonable semblance to it, that I even said it gladly. It’s why I’ll always be a fake farmer, I truly believe in cracking out early to beat the weather and get the work in, but in reality I am far too fond of the pleasure brought on by the annulation of work to be a real farmer.

So I stayed in bed. The vines will rest with me, at least that’s what I thought until my mack called at nine and wanted to know why I wasn’t on my corner where we said we would meet. I had work to do, the vines were lined up like hardware convention johns at the cat house. They can wait, but not forever. It wasn’t even raining he said. I weakly replied, that everything was wet. After he called a second time thirty minutes later to talk of obligations and agreements, I sputtered a complaint and vaguely said okay. For a long moment I didn't know what to do. Then I turned the phone off, finished the chapter of the book I was reading and went back to sleep.

You see, I never doubted the forecast, all the signs on the ground yesterday confirmed it . Wind, moisture, temperature, they all felt like rain, and god-dammit I was committed to it, and the day off it would bring. Misty and threatening was good enough for me, and it should have been for the vigneron too, at least that’s how I saw it. But he was less mad, then disappointed, like I had let him down. Though even a hookers love has it’s limits.

In effect the day was one indecision after another. I did nothing, read a book, watched a movie, dicked around on the computer. Later I found a message the vigneron left on my phone not long after his second call to say the rain had started, and not to bother coming. As I said, I am full of luck. Good luck or bad is harder to say, though they say tomorrow it will rain again.


  1. yes tomorrow it will rain again lucky you can stay in bed chance that everyone can't have too
    hope for you it will be the same for all the week
    good luck and have good time

  2. Damien, it's tony, braced and leaning in on the broadbands. Good to see you last evening.
    As a Britisher and therefore an expert on matters grey, I feel it only right to help you mve on through this difficult phase of being known as life.
    The whole mystery and beauty of grey lies in the indefinable. True, in France, where evrything is obligatorily defined, it's hard to drop Cartesian reason and head for the vague and disrespectfully unceratin.
    But there we have it. That is greyness. Never good (as in luck) or bad (as in luck). Just wonderfully grey and manipulable. Obviously your non-Catholic youth has left you with a guilt each time that your hands are not at their work-post. But just as obviously, m'sieur vigneron will at least be floundering in a world of grey, searching desperately for a surre "yes" or "no", unable to appreciate your wise decision to wallow in the dubiousness of grey. A few drops of rain gave him the clue he needed to make a decision, and he was temporarily out of his misery.
    I trust this brief reflection on greyness will help you overcome any future doubts of doubt. Indecision, like contradiction and left-handedness, is an opportunity, not a mortal sin.
    By the way, ALL my ex wives were bitches, and then they all came back for counselling. Funny ol' world, n'est-ce pas?