Lanes Wednesday, December 2 2009

Here and there we see a bunny, anxious by nature and skidding for moral reasons, who will nonetheless take a risk. If caught, she perishes.
Untrammeled, she merits the congratulations of whatever rich trinket had been her aim to begin with. Yet this rabbit is by far the exception: as a race, their fat comes not from bold exploration but from uncertainty, indecision, hesitancy, and self-doubt.
It is must the same, if you can believe it, with citizens of this era. They, having accepted the yarn that a civilization of which they are parts has conquested the bitter hardships of all ages before, see much to expect and worry that they will be insufficient to achieve it.
Imagine a woman tasked with the small order of stamping out the life of a misplaced hope: she delays and questions, grinds her teeth and makes excuses, communes with a whole spirit world of reasons not to, and, when finally committing the act, paces it poorly, queasy it will not go right, physically perturbed because she must doubt herself in the moment of a quotidian action with no consequence which cannot be reversed within the course of a month.
Of course, the humorist would make light of this situation by a morbid reference to the Daycomb or Selftouch; but the technical instrument lacking here is only partly at issue. Of course, the mechanical haunches developed in the middl-part of my own adult century have don eaway with this malady by reinforcing the enteric nerves with molded glass. Yet, even with the haunch, it seems, those trained and genetically inspired to delicate reference cannot match the spiteful degree of self-abeyance effected by these courtesans of worry.