Poor Howard pondered over what to title this rant, but could find nothing pithy. Also, his editor re-read the previous day's blog entry and must confess he wished he had restrained Howard's public sniveling. He felt that Howard's usual self-absorption and indulgence had gone too far and he regrets allowing it to happen. He feels that the the phrase "THE TROUBADOR HE SEES" was over-used and in the end, not effective, except as a sort of infantile mewling whine. He has advised Howard to look outside of himself today, and to try writing with more grace. And so Howard intends to explore the theme of Grace.
Poor Howard's day began at 5:00 a.m. It seemed a cruel hour, as his body was not refreshed, but his municipal duty had to be fulfilled. There were fences to repair, public toilets to foam, rattlesnakes to avoid, and weak Folger's coffee to be drunk. The City of Fort Collins needed him.
Yes, Howard faced another work day, and though Howard attempted to be grateful for his lot in life, for his employment, he did not feel gratitude; he felt more of a mysterious stomach pain and a general reluctance to even eat breakfast. There was an ache in his soul which he could not quell and he resisted the day in his body and in his mind, envisioned quitting, tasted it, knew it, and it was...wrong. No. He mustn't quit. But he would not ride his bike today. No. The day before, after along hot day in the dry dusty sun, he had found the ride home intolerable. His seat was uncomfortable and exerted a cruel metallic force against the soft tissue in the area of his perineum. He felt the seat was a threat to his prostate, and he felt he deserved a ride home, for he had done a man's work that day. No, this morning, he would get a ride.
Howard's lovely wife awoke early. She came upstairs from their shared basement lair and kissed him sweetly. His little son beamed at him with his two little nubbin teeth and his big blue eyes. His heart swelled a bit, and for a moment, he forgot his suffering.
Howard can't recall how he got to work, whether his wife or his mother drove him. He must have been lost in his thoughts of a week-old incident which left him dumbfounded. He could not understand human behavior, his or anyone else's. He is not at liberty to comment upon the incident, but he felt he had been wronged and misunderstood, and made into a whipping boy for something he had not done, and he felt the sting of the thing and it gnawed at him and he wanted to be heard, and understood, and he needed satisfaction but he would not get that now. Now, he must go to work.
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Howard regrets that he will not be able to finish his tale of grace today. He is tired and he does need his rest. But he will say this, his intended story concerned an absurd work meeting, a surly menopausal shop manager, a religious studies student who could not operate a pick-up truck, a Home Depot trip that involved an expired credit card and a machine that kept demanding "please wait for attendant, please wait for attendant, please wait for attendant." There was also a Lesbian cowgirl, a thunderstorm, an archaelogical site filled with giant bison bones from 10,000 BC, a small, white fuzzy gopher, a speeding pronghorn antelope and a job that took all day to hardly begin...
Howard hopes that his audience can use their imaginations to create their own story from these characters and situations.
