DRAWING DRUMPF: I’M THAT BORED!

Yes, I’m reduced now to drawing Drumpf – I’m that bored.  However, devoting 15 minutes to draw Drumpf does not necessarily mean I’m squandering my time.  At least when I post this portrait on this this blog, everybody knows the character.  Marked with his signature tan and cirrus pelt, Drumpf was an easy draw.

I must admit I do spend other minutes (“other” than these 15 drawing minutes) following Drumpf’s daily tornadoes of destruction.  I used to watch his antics on both CNN and FOX until I realized the CNN coverage of Drumpf, not-so-strangely, made me feel vindicated knowing that others hate him too; whereas when I watched FOX for the conservative spin, after a short time I acquired a sickness for sycophancy.  I mean, really, this is couch-and-snack time television.  Why should I spend any of my recreational time making myself to feel nauseated by the sound bytes of Bill Barr, Mike Pompeo, Devin Nunes, and Mitch McConnell, never mind Sean Hannity, Tucker Carlson, Jeanine Pirro, and Laura Ingraham?

And it’s not the case that my days are filled with quality recreational time.  Factoid:  I still have to make a living.  Abiding by the municipal and common-sense guidelines for social distancing, at least in my Young Offender professional contracts, I have been working from home.  With my hypnotherapy clients, with whom I conduct sessions in my office, I am attempting to deliver sessions via Face Time.  These Face Time sessions are great because I’m forced to adapt, but whether they are valuable in a therapeutic sense, I’m not sure.  In a profitable sense they are a steal for my clients, yet offer no monetary value for me.  In a professional sense, what I am learning is invaluable, even though I am charging zeroth for the service.

In this world of designed recreational solitude my guitar skills are improving.  I’ve decided to focus my attention practising my guitar percussion skills.  I am tapping my guitar lots on both the pick-guard and waist. Here is what I know.  It takes practice, practice, practice to become an adequate percussionist on guitar.  (Hmmm, forgive my inductive reasoning here.  I should state that it takes practice, practice, practice for ME to become an adequate percussionist on MY guitar.  “It don’t come easy” adding booms and taps betwixt strums for this added Ringo Starr power.)

Besides some daily drawing and strumming I’m also embarking on Walden Pond walks.  Being quite used to a regimen of early morning runs before work, I am now getting quite addicted to my Thoreau high-noon strolls.

All this phatic chat above important.  This blurb that I am writing right now, atypically, is not about busking.  (My buskapades are on hold until general hobnobbing is determined to be healthy.)  Actually I thought this blog entry might metamorphose into an essay on loneliness but it’s not.  Rather, it is an essay on laziness.  It is about my laziness in my Lotus-land.  (I am forced to be home and am being paid for this restriction.  Under other circumstances, not having to go to work and yet receive a pay-cheque would be considered a Lotus-land opportunity.  I am very aware that most others, who are not so privileged as I, are struggling in this dystopian work domain.)     

Over these past couple weeks, I have become a slug.  Before this force majeure I would awake and rise between 5:00 and 5:30 a.m.  Now I roll out around 8:00 a.m.  Before this force majeure I would go on a half hour run around Wascana Lake.  Now I go for a stroll around noon.  Before this force majeure I was excited about going to work.  Now I get excited when I get up the gumption to change from jammies to jeans.  Before this force majeure I used to kick box every day for 30 minutes.  Now I’ve yet to throw even just one punch, which would take only a millisecond.  You get the picture?  I have become a slug.

Starting to climb over the hump of my slump I drew Drumpf.

Yikes.  I’ve been awakened by a disingenuous demagogue.   

Never did I imagine such a sardonic clown to be such a stimulating catharsis!

Marching in my CHAUCERIAN PARADE this week: 

RE-VISITING MY OUTLAW WAYS