A complete bore!

I’ve occasionally heard unfavourable things said of me.  I mean, who hasn’t?  Nobody escapes condemnation.  Nonetheless I wasn’t ready for today’s assault. This was a big one, the first of its kind, and pointedly for me the last I shall willingly or failingly expose myself to. I now have it on “reliable authority” that I am a repetitive, tedious bore, not only for himself (which frankly is an isolated characterization I might have tolerated) but also for everyone else (that is, based upon his theory).  And you know what, there is an element of truth to the criticism.  I do repeat myself. A lot.  I have run out of jokes primarily because I haven’t had any new material lately (in the last twenty years or so) and I proudly (or should I say arrogantly) repeat the identical daily habits of cycling, washing the car and writing the same BORING REPETITIVE stuff. I no longer have a frequency of employment or activity which animates me with regularity.  In every respect life is now a pattern of silence, privacy and isolation. Let’s face it, my life isn’t exactly a stage show. I am just an old fogey with a tedious life.  It is a life which, unfortunately for others, I happen to enjoy.  So I am now inclined to keep it to myself.

In the interim (as I readjust to this proposed solitary lifestyle to escape further and REPEATED assertions of yawning the world to death)  I’ve done what I can to ameliorate the problem of being a repetitive bore. It doesn’t include a complete evaporation of my story-telling (which honestly I cannot imagine doing otherwise although I admit I can shelter others from its peril).  Writing is something I’ve done almost every day of my life since I was 14 years old (and, no, I won’t repeat that account at this time as I have mistakenly done so often before). Boring!

I feel that in the process of eliminating my hopelessly wearisome accounts I will at the very least spare others the indignity and travail of having to hear or read them.  But still I intend to continue to write. Privately and for myself. It’s one of the few remaining artistic expressions I have.  The piano is gone.  I don’t even down an electric one any more. My monologues have obviously hit a wall. My photography is far from cunning. I have very little to do with anyone any more.  Whatever friends I thought I had have either died or disappeared. Many of them were clients for whom I acted but I mistook them for friends rather than acquaintances. Which is understandable but I stupidly misconceived the alliance.

I have to say however that the change of modus operandi is welcome because, for one thing, it eliminates having to fabricate a topic about which to write (that is, one for public consumption). But let me reassert for the record and solely for my personal benefit and privilege that it is always possible for me to write for myself about whatever and whenever. And it starts today. I have no compunction regarding this model. I fully accept the accusation.  I know if I were expected to read this stuff daily I would not.  In fact, now that I reflect upon that particular trial, I do not read what I have written (except for spelling and grammatical error).  It is no more appropriate for me to do so than to reconsider what I ate for dinner last evening (unless perhaps it were something extraordinary such as the meal my erstwhile physician prepared). But otherwise I too consider my stories a repetitive bore.

And now that I think on it, that’s another thing.  I remarked to my erstwhile physician that the event last evening of dining with him in the country on the deck of his century-old house overlooking the pool in the meadow and the distant weeping willows was an uncommon and memorable distinction by which to recall Canada Day on July 1st, 2024.  I hadn’t though anticipated the date would also be memorable for having curtailed my public codswallop and taradiddle (aka Substack). Nor that the event would follow so immediately upon the heels of a very recent comment by someone who is completely unknown to me that I am (or, as she said) “must be” pretentious (specifically and importantly in her learned opinion because I add BA and LLB after my name, a posture which she reckoned was pretty small potatoes).  Once again, who is going to argue with that?  I even replied to her that I thought her presumption was correct and I thanked her accordingly. It’s not as though I am ashamed of the degrees. To this day I am proud of my inter vivos trust agreement (“employed as a device to hasten the transfer of wealth from one generation to the next with the least impact of legal or administrative cost”).  Some things just never die!

All of which is to say, just as well. Time for a change.  And in keeping with my usual (no doubt repetitive) method of doing so, it is a binary consideration; namely, in or out, all or nothing.  So I’ve opted for the latter in this instance.  Nor do I feel the remotest indecision or remorse. Indeed I believe I am doing a lot a people a favour.  They will no longer feel the necessity to endure me.  Any more than I must endure them.

That’s the thing.  Even departure is a two-way street. One road ends, another begins.  I have never thought amendment is undesirable. So we’ll undertake a bit of change and see where it ends! My hair and fingernails will grow. The days will pass. I never thought I was a hero.  But I will confess that I still enjoy life. And I intend to do so.  My limited ventures are notwithstanding their uninteresting character intriguing to me. It has to be one of the advantages of decline (ignorance). I do of course regret that I haven’t any longer the opportunity to prove to others what a bore I can be.  That must remain within my personal domain.

So while I won’t retire to the country with my book and my bottle (that would be a Pyrrhic victory), I will however devote my limited being to my limited delights (the list of which naturally I need not repeat).

Pyrrhus (c.318–272 BC), king of Epirus in Greece c.307–272. After invading Italy, he defeated the Romans at Asculum in 279 BC, but sustained heavy losses; the term pyrrhic victory is named in allusion to this.