Another beautiful day in hermitdom. I spent most of the afternoon arranging my airfare back to Salt Lake City, my chosen post-hermit location. Though the thought of ending my run as a hermit is a difficult one, I feel that it must be explored. Come with me, and we will delve into the nature of post-hermit, what it means for the post-hermit personally, what connections it my have to archetypal post-hermit characters, what others can expect from a post-hermit, and how awkward a post-hermit can be.
Because you are so used to relieving yourself whenever the need strikes, do you think you will accidentally pee in public?
This is a tough question. I sincerely hope I do not pee in public, but I have started having these nightmares where I walk into the woods a little ways and start peeing, and there is a urinating tree (see the Hermitage Safety Guide and Urinating Trees entry if you are confused) right next to me, and we sort of look over at each other and nod in that way that says "Hey, man, I'm peeing, and its not that weird because you are also peeing" but then I realize that the urinating tree is in fact the checkout clerk in a Mormon grocery store, and they are not nodding in the way that the urinating tree was nodding, but have a horrible look on their face that says "Holy crapola, you crazy platypus, you are peeing on my checkout counter!" So hopefully this isn't one of those "predict the future" type dreams I usually have, because I hear Mormons are not huge fans of public urination.
How will you reassert yourself publicly as a social human?
Hmmm, this is something I'm worried about. When Buttons and Lemington came out I felt like talking was significantly harder than it should be. I am socially rusty, and I am going to have to get back into the swing of starting and holding conversations. I am a great conversationalist, I can prattle on for hours about any old thing like wood stove hot tubs, the difference between heating oil and diesel, the nature of urinating trees, how much oil goes in a generator, and Sancho's beard hair. I figure that is plenty of stuff to entertain anybody for hours, so my problem will be starting conversations, not keeping them going. First, I am going to dress to the nines every day. I am gonna wear my Beyonce jacket and my Minotaur hat everywhere I go. People like to talk to beautiful strangers, and I think the machete will really give me an air of mystery that people on the streets will find impossible to resist. At parties, when the jacket and hat might be inappropriate, I think I will bring some firearms, and whenever I'm not getting enough attention, I'll just fire off a little "Hey, talk to me" salute at the ceiling, so people won't forget that I'm around. People like to be inclusive, it's just that sometimes they need a reminder.
What will Sancho do without you?
He will be wildly and inconsolably distraught for anywhere between 15 minutes and a couple of hours, and then he will realize there is another dog to play with and exercise himself into a catatonic stupor. Or maybe he will drink hemlock. Hopefully not. Are you seeking a new hermitage? Where?
I do have my own apartment in SLC, and that counts as hermitage in many places, but does not fit my own strict definition. The problem I have been running into is the difficulty of hermiting and making money at the same time. Even Anthony of Egypt didn't adequately contribute to his 401k before he had to retire from hermiting on account of the horrible carpal tunnel/blindness/gangrene fiasco he went through. I must venture into society, ready to conquer the best job that pays any amount above minimum wage and doesn't require handling feces with my bare hands. Actually, I would probably take minimum wage. And handle feces. College degrees aren't worth much anymore, it turns out.
Are you in the habit of talking to yourself, and if so, will you stop?
I mostly talk to Sancho. We have long conversations about all kinds of important things that can go on for hours. He never says anything, so I guess it is sort of like talking to myself. What will I talk to when I'm not hanging out with Sancho anymore? Oh wait, I know. The answer is humans.
What's the first thing you will eat when you get back to civilization? Either a Cheesy Gordita Crunch from Taco Bell or a Big Mac from McDonald's. Both of those fine eating establishments are represented in Palmer, and I will have to decide once I get there.
Can we follow you by blog onto your next adventure?
Yeah, I guess. I could write up little reports every day: "Wow, turned in ANOTHER job application. Got rejected for the feces handling position at McDonald's again. Maybe it will snow?" Nah, maybe that's a bad idea. The chances of my next adventure being blogworthy are pretty small.
What's the loudest noise you ever heard in hermitude? Probably nothing like the noise of traffic in the big city. What's the worst stink you ever smelled in hermitude? Probably nothing like the mighty stink of the big city. Please address how you plan on coming to terms with these surely jarring assaults on your tender hermit senses and if you plan on using meditation as a tool, or perhaps enlisting the services of a life coach?
Wow, this is one helluva question. I almost feel like it is somebody bragging about how awesome their city is. Well I got news for you, bragging question asker, you are WRONG. The loudest noise I heard? How about the soul crushing rush of blood in my ears? When it's the only thing you can hear, you hear it loud, and it can drive a man crazy! It just grows and swells until the noise is the size of a tsunami of garbage trucks roaring down the valley, and you want to kneel and scream, but you can't escape it, it is part of you, and just when you have had it a minute longer than you can bear, and your feeble little mind has turned to tapioca pudding, an owl will hoot, break the spell, and save what remains of your soul.
Have you ever smelled the putrid cloud that comes out of Sancho's beard after he has been gnawing on shit patties? When he exhales, it smells like...a tsunami of garbage trucks rolling down the valley, and then he farts and sticks his nose a little closer, and you want to vomit, partially because you are so disgusted, but mostly because right now vomit would smell so much better than all the odors the dog is giving off, and you contemplate how long it would take to find some hemlock and drink it, but the fart dissipates and Sancho moves away, interested in something else, and your will to survive returns.
So NO, I won't need a life coach. The real question is: Can the "Big City" handle a post-hermit? Unlikely. But maybe I could look into the life coach thing as a possible career field. Sounds way better than feces handling at McDonald's.
In the Memorial Anthony of Egypt National Most Hermitly Award, New Zealand still has a commanding lead, but South Africa is creeping up on a complacent looking Uganda. Only a few days left people!
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