Charles Bukowski, Portions From a Wine-stained Notebook
However, shouldn’t I have known that the winter landscape is not a bare-trail-cake-walk? Shouldn’t I have known that the bench would be buried in hard, icy snow? That the trail would be a treacherously narrow icy forty-five degree slope? That I would have to dig my pointed snowshoes into the ice so I wouldn’t slide into the brook? Would have to put gloves under my keister to avoid future kidney or prostate side-effects?
I just don’t know.
A few weeks ago while we were heading to the Blueberry hiking trail, one of my hiking buddies was, unbeknownst to me, taking photos of me while I was driving.
She was amazed to find, while looking at one of the photos, that I had sprouted a belly.
Now I knew that this hiker didn’t believe that everything was fake news, didn’t believe that black was white, that oceans drain into rivers and she wasn’t into a weird Quack Up cult that believed in the coming rapture of blood-sucking pedophiliacal vampires.
So, I assumed I had a bit of a belly and decided I’d cut back on some calories.
My theory is that any person who is addicted to a substance has inside their brain two lawyers. One who will put forth a rational argument that you should stick to your resolutions and the other lawyer who will make up arguments which will give you the feeling that it is alright to break your contracts.
Sounds simple. Right?
What was I going to do?
I decided that I would have, on Wednesday, after my skate, a real coffee. I often do this after a hike. However, coffee makes me anxious after it has sent me into high-energy euphoria. It means, therefore, that I need to have a beer or two after the coffee. My lawyers are still thrashing out this beer situation. My resolution-keeping lawyer has some suspicions about the reasons for my having a coffee in the first place.
So, after my skate on Wednesday, I bought a real coffee. Small with one cream. I followed the contract to the letter.
I then headed for home. As I got closer to the Tim Horton’s my two lawyers began to try to persuade me.
“Larry, get a grip. You were skating. You always buy an Iced Cap after you skate. The skating will only last for a few more weeks. Why can’t you?”
That was lawyer number one.
That was lawyer number two.
As I looked at Timmy’s through my rear-view mirror one of the lawyers stormed out of the office.
Legal battle settled?
I passed the Cabot Trail and drove a few more kilometres to his house where I gave him the money.
On the way down his snowy laneway, my lawyers were back at it.
And please don’t ask me how many trips we’re making to North Sydney or Sydney, but I have had to make two urgent trips to North Sydney this week and lawyer number two can’t say anything about it because it’s in the contract. He’s working on a new, air-tight clause.