Not Bad

notes from a BFLL

It was my day off. I woke up, got out of my pajamas, took a shower, and got back in my pajamas. I thought about what I should do with my day. I was working several jobs at the time and even the idea of my one day off, a single day at risk of being wasted, a day, if I didn’t look sharp, that was in grave danger of being absolutely frittered, made me blank at the glare. Day Off, when it came around, came armed and fraught with possibility, and the possibility of wasting Day Off took the lead.

It was all very daunting and a lot of pressure. It was a lot of pressure and a lot to think about and I didn’t want to think about it anymore. I took a break to have some tea. After my tea I would have some coffee. Coffee was a pleasure to look forward to and Bigger Things could wait. Maybe that was the biggest thing though. Pleasure. My dad had raised me to believe that the most important thing in life is to experience as much pleasure as possible and it occurred to me, thinking it over, that pleasure can often be procured by pie. I finished my tea and made some coffee and thought about what kind would be best. To stave off any guilt—about things like wasting my day, or eating well—that might try to muscle its way in and ruin the pleasure, I decided that it would be a healthy pie.

I could have been hiking or writing or doing something useful but I was going to make pie, which didn’t even require getting dressed. But it would be a raw pie, a healthy pie. A healthy, raw, luxurious, rich, triple-chocolate-mousse pie. If I make it now it’ll have all day to set and James and I can have it after dinner, I said to myself. James didn’t really like pie, but that wasn’t the point. Not to mention it was wrong and unnatural. By jove, I’d make him like it. I pictured him being presented with my masterpiece, looking pleased and impressed. Wow! He would say. That looks delicious!

It was a good picture.

I got to work. I made a crust of nuts and dates. I whipped chocolate and coconut cream together into a mousse. I poured the mousse into the crust and spread the top smooth. I made some caramel and drizzled it over the top and put the pie in the ‘fridge to set.

Then I sat down and tried to write for a while. I wrote a paragraph but it wasn’t any good. I kept thinking about the pie. I wondered when it might have set enough for me to have a taste-tester piece. I wanted to make sure it was good, that it had worked. I decided to give it a little bit longer. I looked at my writing for a minute. Then I looked out the window. There was sun, outside. I remembered that it was supposed to rain for the rest of the week. You shouldn’t ignore sun, not when you live in the Pacific Northwest, I said to myself. Who knows when it’ll come back again, I added.

Still in my pajamas, I got up and went outside.

The sky was bright blue. I sat down on the deck. The sun felt good on my head, the back of my neck. I lay down and felt its warmth on my face. I tried not to think about skin cancer, freckles, or wrinkles. I thought about how it’d been when I was a kid, before I’d read the barrage of warnings, year after year, against sun exposure. How I would just lie on the lawn and become drowsy with the heat and the sweet smell of grass in the sun. I thought about it and wished I’d never read all that stuff.

The sun was hot. I put my arm over my face.

When I went back inside I looked at the clock. It was noon already. I decided I wouldn’t get dressed until I had to. It was better that way.

I felt like a schlub, a loser, but comfortable. Maybe I should try my new Yoga Stretches for Relaxation DVD that I’d checked out of the library.

Breathe, said the lady on the video. She looked too tan. Breathe in, breathe out, she said. Bend your leg. Good. Now bend your other leg. I lay there, breathing, in and out, bending. It was no good. All that breathing and bending. It was just too much doing. Maybe a better way to relax, a more gentle way, would be to simply not move at all. I put the tan lady on mute and just lay there on the floor. There. This is much better, I thought, this is nice.

After lying on the floor for a while I began to wonder if maybe the pie had set. But I knew that it couldn’t have, not yet. Have patience, I said to myself. Just relax, I admonished—this is not the time to Wonder about Pie. I kept lying there. I breathed in. But I had really better check, I thought. I breathed out.

I got up. I was very relaxed. A little lightheaded, I staggered over to the ‘fridge and peered inside. There was the pie. I couldn’t tell if it had set or not so I got it out and put it on the counter and prodded it a little with a spoon. The spoon sunk into the middle and made a big dent. Dammit. I scooped some of the mousse out, carefully, trying to smooth over the dent. I put the mousse in a bowl. It looked like pudding. I’d better eat it, I thought, I can’t put it back together now. I broke off a piece of the crust to see how the flavors would taste together. They tasted good. I decided to have a little piece of pie, a proper triangle shape this time, to test out the overall effect. The overall effect was good.

I put the rest of the pie back in the ‘fridge to set.

I sat down and tried to write some more. But the words fell flat. This is stupid, I thought. I stared out the window for a while. I tried to think about writing, but could only think about pie. I decided to check on its progress. I got up to see if maybe it had set a little more. It hadn’t, but I ate another piece anyway.

In the afternoon I thought I’d take a little break. All of that sitting and waiting and not writing. A pie break sounds good, I thought. I had some more. It was good.

The pie, or what was left of it, was looking starting to look a bit worse for wear. I carefully chiseled off a few jagged edges with my fork and ate them. James doesn’t even like pie, I reminded myself. When I was done I sat back and took stock of my day. I had lain in the sun unsuccessfully. I had written one bad paragraph. I’d completed ten minutes of my Gentle Yoga Stretches for Relaxation video. I had written another bad paragraph. I’d eaten half of the night’s dessert already. I was still in my pajamas.

I thought about all that, and felt a little ashamed. I hung my head and sighed. You’re just a big fat lazy loser, I said to myself, unkindly. But after a while I began to look on the bright side. I sat up a little straighter. You know what? I said to myself. You might be a big fat lazy loser, or BFLL, and I’ll be the first to admit that you are, but at least you made a delicious pie. And that’s not bad, is it?