Baying.

I’ve been on vacation since last week. My wife and I decided to escape the madding crowds of New York and take a week in a place we’ve never been before, Maryland's eastern littoral. It’s been a decidedly unlavish vacation but decent for its simplicity. Right now, for instance I am writing this post with one finger as I lay on a chaise out by the pool. 

I’m not much good typing on an iPod mini--my ape-hands aren't nearly dextrous enough--and I’m trying to spend some hours a day more than an axe length away from my poor, overworked Mac. Ergo, a one-finger-derived post from poolside.

Unlavishness has much to commend it. For one, I am the only one at the pool right now and have been the only one since the weekend's hullabaloo departed. Lavish is noisier than unlavish and its swimming pools are usually too noisy, populated by too big voices squawking on cell phones and too small swimsuits.

My wife and I both work for ourselves and we don’t get paid if we don’t work. So like a cagey relief pitcher, we’ve figured out how to work with efficiency. Mariano Rivera would come in and induce a double-play grounder with one pitch. That one pitch a game earned him $30 million per annum and a plaque in the Hall of Fame. I’m not greedy and will gladly work for half that, and you can ixnay the laque-pay. 

Being removed from the Sturm and Drang of my Mac keyboard leaves me in arrears post-wise. I have nothing in the can and around noon each day, I start worrying that I won’t have a post for tomorrow.

It’s ok, I tell myself. I can skip a day or a week. I can hear my therapist of so many decades say the same--admonish, really. But time-off doesn’t come easy to those who have never had it. As I lay on a chaise by the pool writing this I hear one trillion cicadas noisifying in unison. 

They never phone in sick.

No, they rub their hind legs and chirp their chirps and I do the same. I type a word at a time and try to find meaning from the tapping. It’s what I do and have always done and probably always will do

I’m a pest of sorts.

It’s hard to out-cicada me.

Not much to speak of, but this is my post from an outpost.

My cicada instincts chirrup.