Point of View: Yes Bub Yes and Yes

Well, I can cross “Ulysses” off the bucket list, butgeeitwasawfullylong. Much of it is funny, though, and Molly Bloom’s 10,000-plus-word sentence at the end is wonderful. 

I read the last part to Mary my mountain flower yes and she said yes yes Bub I will Yes.

Now back to Jung (who didn’t think women thought, by the way) and to Joseph Campbell’s “Goddesses.” 

Is it that I’ve been fixed, or do we just end up that way, entwined with one another, differentiated in obvious ways, but not really, more or less one. 

I remember her mother exclaiming, with some incredulity, but with some delight too, that we still talked. Well, of course. Is that not intercourse too?

Inter alia interlocutory intercourse does not however always run smooth: When reminded periodically of my failings, I say, “I didn’t do nothing,” accenting the “I,” as in the Prime Unmover, and she will say, “I know, that’s just it — you don’t do nothing,” accent on the “nothing.”

That we’re readers spares me to some extent inasmuch as she acknowledges that reading is a worthy activity, albeit a sedentary one. She’d much rather do it than the laundry, shop for dinner, cook the dinner, deal with myopic ancillary personnel, fill out inane forms, check for ticks, floss, answer the damn phone, empty the dishwasher, load the dishwasher, sweep the deck, wrestle weeds, and attend to others’ problems, and so would I.

But slothfulness in purposeful clothing will only get you so far. There comes a time of reckoning and I reckon it’s time to mow the lawn, to edge the borders, and to lay a walkway. I do want to stay in her good graces inasmuch as she is one of them, a flower of the mountain.