How do you start the day? I don’t have trouble starting the morning. There’s the getting up, dressing up and then showing up. What do you show up for? What alot of silly questions you might be thinking. You’re right, of course but lately after waking up and showing up, I do wonder. What the hell am I showing up for?  Sometimes thinking too much is not good for the soul. But once I am on this road, it is hard to stop.

I am trying to re-orientate myself. I’m not interested in re-inventing myself. I think I like myself just fine, thank you very much. But I am stuck on what am I showing up for. What is my purpose? What tickles my fancy? I don’t have any answers for my questions. Nothing really knocks my socks off. Not even money or diamonds. Pathetic, you say. I concur.

I was tickled to find The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F*ck in my OverDrive bookshelf this morning. Mark Manson is very entertaining in his story telling. And to tell the truth, I love the word f*ck. Naughty me, eh? Uttering it releases so much stress. I’m proud to say I seldom use it now that I am no longer in the work force. I have just finished the first chapter. I might get tired of the word as I read further. No doubt it has earned him a poor rating on Goodreads.

I love his story of Charles Bukowski. He was a loser and a drank heavily most of his life. But he kept writing despite rejections. He didn’t give a f*ck. He didn’t realize his dream of being a poet, novelist, short story writer, and columnist until he was about 50 years old. Despite his success and fame, he was still a loser, showing up at his poetry readings hammered, being verbally abusive to the audience, exposing himself in public, and trying to sleep with every woman he could find. I’m quoting Mark Manson here. Don’t sue me. The epitah on his gravestone reads: “Don’t Try”. This story alone made the book worth reading for me.

I stopped thinking about my questions. I stopped trying to make my day meaningful. I tackled the job of brushing Sheba’s teeth. It was a no go with the long tooth brush or the finger brush. She liked the peanut butter flavoured tooth brush. She was ok with my gauzed wrapped finger. It was better than nothing. Next on the list was cleaning her ears. It brought forth sharp barks of rebuke and snapping of teeth. No way was she going to let me put ear wash down her ears. I had to settle for wiping them with wet cotton balls. Good enough. What the f*ck, eh?

Not an earth shattering day. No excitement at all. But it is sunny and warm. The solar panels are going crazy, making electricity. I am pleased. I started the cukes, squashes and Chinese gourds, each in its peat pots. I seeded some lettuce, spinach and onions outside in the raised beds. I was motivated to rake up some of the dead leaves blown here and there. Then I took the fur baby for our afternoon walk. There was no trying anything today.