23 December 2011

I am Content this Christmas

I am content with the fact that I have no alarm clock.

I am content with lingering in the sleeping bag and watching the sunrise through my windows, which have no curtains and need none.

I am content with my little Spanish espresso machine, especially in the morning. I am more than content with caffeine.

I am content with not shaving. I am content with showering only for special occasions, which are special because they are very rare.

I am content with pulling on my boots in the morning--old friends. I am content with how well they walk on cobblestone. I am content not knowing whether I can still knot a tie--overhand, half windsor, or full windsor.

I am content with not driving for days on end. I am content on the rare days that I do to drive in a city where no other driver is in a hurry.

I am content upon awaking with having no more idea what I shall do that day than I had upon going to sleep the night before.

I am content with not being at the beck and call of anyone.

I am content with Carlos who picks up my laundry at 9:00 on Monday mornings and returns it washed and folded at 6:00 on Monday afternoons in return for a few pesos. I am content with the accomplishment of washing these few dishes myself.

I am content with the shabby loft in which I live. I am content with Laura who cleans and rearranges the place to her liking every Thursday.

I am content not to hate Roy Halliday. I am even more content caring not a whit about Roy Halliday's performance in yesterday's game.

I am content with bill collectors, if there are any who care, having no idea where I am. If there are any bill collectors who care and who know where I am, I am content with their evident fear of following me into this place.

I am content with having no telephone whatsoever.

I am content with receiving no bills.

I am content, after many years of striving, to live on nearly nothing with nearly nothing.

I am content with having satisfied my financial obligations to the mothers of our children. I am content with having paid my taxes.

I am content with my children, all admirable, adult human beings who are themselves now in the thick of it. I could not be more proud of them.

I am content no longer having to pretend for anyone that I have any answers to any important questions.

I am content with my teeth, which are still my own. I am content with the reasonable charges of my Mexican dentist, Dr. Antonio Vega Tellez, for cleaning them, a dentist who is not worried about paying his country club dues.

I am content with my truck, which has demonstrated itself to be a horse capable of enduring abuse.

I am content with no television and the time to read. I am content with time to spare for sitting and thinking on the patio under the Peruvian Pepper Tree as the sun sets. I am content with my tan.

I am content with not depending upon the appreciation of anyone for my feeling of self-worth.

I am content with no wife for reasons too many to list.

I am content with having nothing left to lose that I care about all that much except my life. I would be content with losing my life tomorrow, having already been given these last two and a half years.

I am content with the culture in which I live in contrast with the culture in which I lived. But I know that Mexico is a whore who has created the illusion that she holds me in an affectionate embrace. In truth I know that she is capable at any time of slitting my throat if she gets the mistaken idea that I have money. In which case, we shall both be only disappointed.

I am content with the possibility that I will see no other place before I die. I have seen this place.

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