Ariel and Her Miseries 7

7

The Man Cave

            Yes, it’s true. I was and am in all rights still a man. And as a man, I was privy to man’s weaknesses, and one of them is man’s inordinate propensity to hide himself whenever he comes against an unsolvable misfortune. Big problem, hide, that’s how we work ladies. It is one of the great commonalities of man whether he be rich or poor, jock or geek. We hide. It would have been easy to start where I already was, and slowly work up the courage to craft opportunities where this object of love and I might meet and get to know one another. I already had her name. I already knew where she worked. Yet the most simple of solutions are not always the first to spring up in the deluded. Of course, it was plain cowardice that forced me to my choice of action but my steady unwavering idea at that time was, as all courses to the man cave are, my course of action was the only and logical course.

Early morning after the theatre debacle, I gathered provisions, bolted my shop, shut the curtains, and readied myself for a long haul. I had a play to write after all.

There I spent the next full week, pouring my soul onto the paper, willing marks that would make some sense onto the page. Of course Marbles and Cards rang the phone a couple of times and even once almost knocked my shop door off its hinges but it was easier to ignore them now that I was utterly committed. It was, in retrospect, the singular greatest effort I have spent in my living breathing existence. And at the end of that week, I had nothing to show for it. My old friend, the Kafka Bug must have been laughing at me somewhere in the shelves. He might have been suffering but as we all know, misery loves company. And that tortured insect loved me to pieces.

Drink binges and drug binges have nothing against a love binge. My eyes had crusted over, my body felt like a ragdoll molested by Cerberus. And to tell you the truth, my stench was nothing to be proud about. At giving up, I raised the curtains, and was met by the cruel gaze of the sun. It took me a minute or two to get used to the light. It was probably eight in the morning. I had all intention to crawl back up to my apartment and bathe in the misery of my black broken heart. Only when I opened the door did I realize a woman whose hair danced like fairy wings standing in front of me, waiting to be let in.

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