The only bad part about being a hermit? Sometimes you have to step out of the desert, and it’s always a big scary deal.
Once in a great while somebody will throw a compliment about how I’m not really afraid of anything in the boonies but breed bulls, how I can live on next to nothing, “improvise, adapt and overcome,” and all the other good things about the solitary life. That’s nice, but as I’ve said before nobody becomes a hermit in the desert because his life was going so great outside the desert. Outside the desert I’m afraid of pretty much everything – mostly because when something goes wrong in a city you usually can’t just shoot it or hit it with a wrench until it stops bugging you one way or the other. You have to actually deal with it, and I’m no good at that.
Eleven years in the desert haven’t exactly attenuated that effect. So now I’ve absolutely got to go to the eye doctor, and since I haven’t been to the big town about 50 miles away in almost a year I’ve got a helluva shopping list which means Wal-Mart and Lowe’s as well, and I’d almost rather be shot. I’m sure everything will turn out all right, but in the meantime it’ll be five hours of nervous twitches and a cramping gut.
Pray for us sinners, I guess. Here we go…