He who rides a tiger is afraid to dismount. – Chinese Proverb
Most of the time we live on the back of a tiger. And most of the time, the tiger is sleeping. We get to concentrate on being writers, parents; we know who we are and what we’re trying to do. Then every so often the tiger wakes up. And during the pandemic, the tiger woke up just to say, ‘Hey, you’re not in control of shit, actually.’ So, it’s lovely when things go according to plan and the world is your friend. But when it isn’t, that’s pretty interesting, too. – George Saunders
During the pandemic, I WAS in control of shit.
Well, technically my wife, but she lets me pretend.
Locked up, closeted, quarantined together for, oh, 28 months, only made us stronger.
Practically duct-taped to one another, back to back, so nobody can sneak up on us.
You can tell we've gotten old; used to be, we had to be tied up face-to-face.
The world's changed.
When they finally gave the all-clear signal, we met with our unvaccinated family.
And we ate in a restaurant. Two, maybe three, restaurants. And got some ice cream, too.
I got sick first. Couldn't get out of bed. Couldn't even watch television.
No, you don't understand - the world championships of my chosen passion.
Too sick to watch. Still haven't seen The Men's Ten Thousand.
Felt good enough to get out of bed about the same time my lover crawled into it.
Something I figured out after the new roof ate up next year's income
- probably figured it out again after figuring the same thing out again and again -
and the next week I paid almost as much for a new set of tires as I once did for a new car.
Check your driveway after you've had your roof redone. Figured that out after the second flat tire.
What I'm saying is - you're welcome - even in the worst of times
you can establish a rhythm, a flow, and go with that. Not a rut, if it's a groove.
Live life like a dry leaf on a babbling brook. Surf the damn tsunami.
Ride the back of the tiger.
My left foot is dark purple. One leg bigger, from my third gonad to my fused toes.
Gonna punch the next person who asks me if I play pickleball. Not funny.
At my last semi-annual check-up, six months ago, I suggested an MRI perhaps.
The doctor listened carefully and said, not out loud, one more test and she'd lose her bonus.
This time, took my shoe and sock off, in that order,
and what do you know, now awaiting an MRI at OMG Diagnostics.
Where even good news is scary.
Can almost hear the diagnosis now - oh, dear, if you'd only come to us six months sooner.
In Hernando County, the Covid death rate is TWICE THE NATIONAL AVERAGE.
No statistician am I, but that sounds bad. And stoopid.
So, we dodged the odds. Just like the Powerball lottery. Life's breaks.
Doctor won't listen. Don't even have the latest booster, "nobody around here wants it."
So, we get inoculated at the grocery store and buy more lottery tickets.
Old lady down the block, her husband died.
And the bald-headed sex maniac across the road
began beating a dusty path straight through her front yard.
If you know what I mean.
The entire retirement community eaten up with jealousy.
Not me. No. Not me. Me, it's awe.
Doctor says my own testosterone level is within the normal range for a man of my age.
What the fuck!, I blurt out.
And my wife says, Language, honey.
You'll wake the tiger.
The struggle continues.
So, still waiting to hear when’s my MRI, but the tiger has yet to sleep anew.
Hurricane Nicole expected to hit here – maybe twice as the storm turns – the middle of this week.
So, it’s lovely when things go according to plan and the world is your friend.
But when it isn’t, that’s pretty interesting, too.
Yippee ki-yay!