I’ve gone and gotten myself hooked on a new-to-me show, “Lodge 49.” It’s a little trippy, a little Cali, a little dude. And for some reason, I freaking love it. I’m not going to try and describe it, because I will flail and fail. That’s not why I’m writing anyway.
In one episode, a character is out for a lovely stroll in a cemetery and she falls into a freshly-dug grave. Looking up from the bottom, she says she rather likes the view. Upon seeing this, I said out loud, to no one, “I would do that. I would lie in an empty grave.”
And I meant it. I would. It would be a crazy opportunity. I’m a goer. If the chance presented itself, how could I resist?
To say that life has been all over the place is an understatement. Up until a couple of days ago, I didn’t know where in the world I’d be living in a few months time. Add to that a litany of philosophical and esoteric quandaries and you’ve got yourself a hodgepodge of fucked-up-ed-ness. I did anyway. And to some degree, still do. Honestly, I haven’t really figured out much of anything. Questions still loom. Uncertainty still hovers. If I’ve managed anything at all, I guess it’s a modicum of relaxation. I’m going with the stream right now. Its waters are twisting and rippling beneath low-hanging branches from nearby banks, mostly shaded and often dark. Even when I can’t see what’s ahead, the water keeps moving. And I’m trying to float.
I’m almost caught-up on “Lodge 49.” The second season just started. I’m smitten with its magic, though it may be only imagined. Time will tell. Same for real life. I have no idea what’s coming. But I do know this – if ever someone gives me a go at lying in the bottom of an empty grave, I’m taking it.