Perfect Tranquility

Sitting in the recliner this morning reading in rapture.

I was at the point where the sun was radiating upon me through the picture window next to me, making me even warmer, even more comfortable, even more content.

Patsy was in my lap. She moved over so that her ass was on my thigh and the rest of her body was draped over the arm of the recliner, head and front legs curved downward, facing the window. She fell asleep.

And there you have it. The thing we all covet - perfect tranquility.

I can get peaceful but it's never perfect. How about you? Is it just me? Am I more neurotic than your average human? Or do we all compromise tranquility with worried thoughts?

I am much better at it than ever before. (Shut up, Joe - for Christ sake, are you going off on another rant about how fucking happy you are?) I have moved along the space-time continuum by leaps and bounds, but there is still work to be done.

Bank teller is a stepping stone. To something. I don't know what yet. But it will give me the financial security I need to sleep at night, and to pursue the re-making or rebirth of the Joe, successfully. 

What I am doing to myself is roughly akin to the chiseling of Mount Rushmore, which took 14 years. I don't have 14 years. I have only a nanosecond. To accomplish the important stuff. To get a writing career up and running. To burn away all misguided thoughts, emotions, and reactions, so I can get to Genuine Joe - for my own peace of mind, and for the entertainment of family and friends. To create a path to retirement.

This is where I am headed. I should start working on this today, with extreme prejudice.

But fuck it. It's Sunday. Two NFL playoff games to watch, which I hope to be spectacular. Carol's company to enjoy. Patsy and Emmy Lou to love. Myself to love.

Today I am seeking perfect tranquility.

I learned that from Patsy.