Tuesday, August 21, 2012

Today was Pretty Fun

Life is a meat grinder. It is mindless repetition performed in the total absence of stimulation. It is an unsavory meal that you force down your gullet one 24-hour bite at a time because your stomach demands it. Life sucks.

Every now and then, though, a bite tastes pretty good. I took vacation today not because I had to, not because I necessarily wanted to, but because I didn't have any better use for it. Mrs. DMG and I dropped Donald off for his first day of first grade, and then went to a little dive we discovered in Bentonville where we killed fifty dollars worth of Korean barbecue just to watch it die. Then we went to Rush Running to try on the "crazy shoes" they had just gotten in. Might buy a pair someday. After that, we picked Donald up from school, dropped him off at therapy, and then had a little dessert date at Steak-n-Shake. After bringing Donald home, I went out again to Walmart for a six-pack of beer--Heineken--a treat that I only enjoy a few times a year anymore. We put our tired kid to bed and each enjoyed a cocktail as we watched a cable TV show about a couple who had to decide between remodeling their current extravagant home or buying a different extravagant home. I won't say what Mrs. DMG and I were doing between dropping Donald off at school and departing for the Korean barbecue place, but it was pretty fun, too.

After such a day, after such a delicious bite of life, you'd think I'd be able to sleep. I can't, though, because my being has a task to do. It is neither a physical task nor a mental task; it is simply something that must be done because my stomach demands it. That task is to pick something to occupy myself for the next several days--something to distract me from the long string of foul and unfulfilling bites I will have to eat until circumstance grants me another day like today.

I think I'll write a suicide note. Not for me, of course. My life is not that bad. It would be a purely hypothetical suicide note, an exercise in composition. I will imagine sentences like, "My memoirs are written on the sunken skin of my face, and there is no more room to write." I will repeat those sentences in my mind over and over again, changing a word here and there like a painter who is never quite satisfied with his work and keeps painting over it. It's not fun, thinking of suicide in the third person all day, but when the grind of your life requires no thought, the mind must do something. Thinking of suicide, abstractly, of course, has gotten me through many a day. So yes! I will write a suicide note. With that settled, with my task chosen and my stomach settled, perhaps now I can get to sleep.

Still, today was pretty fun.


Martijn said...

The following comment will not be ironical or funny in the least. I'm too much in awe. Sonofabitch! this is the best post I have ever read! By you, or anyone else. (Do I scare you? I hope not. I went to the beach today, so I'm in touch with the 'cosmos', which is another word for salt water, fine warm sand and naked bodies, sprinkled with random exalted thoughts. Driving home and reading this is the perfect ending to a near-perfect day. Love this style.

Dave Renfro said...

Thanks, Martijn. Someone had to wake up this sorry blog before we all fell asleep. Run this, run that . . . you'd think that's all I ever did.

red dirt girl said...

This IS a very very fine piece of writing, Dave! You know, if you ever decide to take up a second hobby (running always being your first love) - take up writing - SERIOUSLY!

Like an editor once wrote to me: This has everything: Life, Death and Orgasm all rolled together ..

I once spent a fair length of time imagining all the ways I could commit suicide - would it hurt, would I suffer, who would find me, would it be messy, how would that cashmere scarf feel wrapped so tightly around my neck, and oh geesh how would the kids feel growing up with 'suicide' and 'mother' being inextricably linked forever .... funny thing - I never considered the note - the writing or the wording ...

hang tough my friend and keep enjoying the happy bits in between - you have an adoring public (me)


Dave Renfro said...

Orgasm? Umm . . . the misses and I went bowling in the morning. What were you thinking?

Thanks mule friend! I usually don't write when I'm in one of my funks (which is why I sometimes go weeks at a time without writing). Maybe I should do it more often.

Your kind words make me happy for a minute.


carl duewall said...

I don't blame you a bit, Dave. I would like to hear your thoughts on what becomes of your awareness after your physical body assumes room temperature.

red dirt girl said...

What ???? Never had an orgasm in a blowing alley ???



bulletholes said...

Suicide would make a great hobby.
But not as great as sleeping. In fact, sleeping Is what I'll miss most when I'm gone.