The Camerado Chronicles -- Part Two -- Chapter VI

12 July
Kirkland, Quebec

If the Big IF in St. Michael’s life is drug use, mine is definitely the lusts of the flesh. Whether it be for sex or food or alcohol, lust
has been a constant nemesis throughout my post-pubescent life. None of those things are lust-driven in and of themselves. They
are all meant to be enjoyed in moderation and without attachment.

Lust, then, is something else, something other than the object or event or experience lusted for. “To want” does not explain
enough, for that would mean anytime someone is thirsty he is lusting for water, and that cheapens the meaning of the word.
Instead I’m going to suggest that “to lust for” as I’m using it means “to want to possess” –or maybe, “to need to possess in order
to feel fulfilled.” The key word here is “possess” –to have instead of be. Like a young man whose sense of prestige within his
social group is determined by his “numbers” (that, for the uninitiated, means “how many women he has slept with;” women have
numbers too, they just don’t talk about them as much). That’s why you’ll hear someone say, “I had three different women last
week,” or “I had a whole pepperoni pizza for dinner yesterday,” or “I had six gin-and-tonics last night at the club.” Possession --
to have. That is what matters. To conquer, to achieve, to have domain over: this is what it means to fulfill a lust. The pursuit of
our lusts, one way or another, is a quest for acquisition.

(Brief aside: Driving in to the International Paper plant in Ticonderoga, N.Y.,
I was so close to my beloved New England that I could see it, almost touch
it. The hills and farms of Vermont lay just across the southernmost reaches
of Lake Champlain, so close that I could see barns and houses among the
trees and fields. Alas, I have to make my way back to the interstate after
this and head south to Charlotte. But only ten more days ‘til my hometime
in the Merrimack Valley.)

15 July
Sturbridge, Mass.

As you can see by today’s dateline, it seems my prayers were answered. My load out of North Carolina has brought me right up
into the homeland. A strange irony too: I’m hauling kegs of Sam Adams beer, advertised in its logo as the “Boston lager,”
brewed in North Carolina and being shipped to Massachusetts. My 19-year-old Sammy-guzzling beer snob from the Maryland
shore is rolling over in his grave!

I crossed into Connecticut after dark, via the Tappan Zee Bridge and I-95. It’s hard to tell you’ve reached New England down
there, seeing as how it all looks just like the New York City suburbs. I think Connecticut should cede that strip from Greenwich
to New Haven –or maybe a three-way trade where Vermont would get the Adirondacks and a county to be named later, and
Connecticut residents would get free season passes to Killington and Mount Snow.

You can probably tell I’m having fun again. That’s because I finally

managed to

get some good time at a library for a long-overdue Chronicles

chapter and

emails. It was a struggle to get parked even today at James

Madison University

in Virginia, but I was determined, and now I’ve

found a nice spot that should

work anytime I run I-81, which will be

often. Today showed me just how

important it is for me to keep up with

the Chronicles –to keep writing and to

keep sharing, staying in touch

with those vital friends and compatriots out there.

P&K

is also very

important, and I’m going to have it finished as planned before

hometime so the attention to that has been well-spent. But I can’t forget

the

Chronicles.

P&K

is the gasoline for the Fish Out Of Water vehicle,

but the

Camerado Chronicles are the oil, and my dipstick got too low the

past few days.

It was a four-day funk really; I ate horribly and beat

myself up over it, along

with some other things perhaps stemming from

being in Montreal with almost no

money and no focus, way too much in

my head.

I believe it is passed now, between heading home and getting the e-world flowing again.

Everything feels a little bittersweet right now though, to be honest. I talked to Bray for about two minutes –she was napping, and
started falling asleep on the phone—long enough to hear that her endocrinologist says she's on the verge of needing dialysis and is
sending her to a kidney specialist. That’s why she’s been tired and off-kilter lately. Her kidneys aren’t filtering the junk out of
her system as well anymore. She’s poisoning herself. I still don’t know enough yet to say much more; we agreed to talk when
she’s up and ready. We were very warm with each other; I think her spirit will be very strong through this. I only hope mine
can be too.

© 2004 by Hermit Crab
a Fish Out Of Water production

N ext --Chapter 7