The Good Luck of Right Now Read Online Free PDF

do.
    “Life is shit.”
    She whispers it even. Like she’s not supposed to say that to me, but wants me to know that her happy talk and positivity are part of her pretending game.
    Just like being a bird.
    And I’ll try to connect the freckles on her face to make pictures—like new constellations—and I can make a heart when I try really hard.
    Her face is an oval.
    Her eyes are sometimes the color of a May sky at 2:00 p.m. on a Saturday, and sometimes they are the color of polar bear ice.
    She’s beautiful in a little-sister way.
    But back to the monks—I’m not sure I would light myself on fire for any cause whatsoever, and sometimes I worry that I just don’t believe enough in any one thing to make a significant contribution to the world, now that I no longer have to care for Mom.
    Sometimes I wish I felt the passion and purpose you must feel for returning the Dalai Lama to Tibet, but I’ve never experienced such intense feelings.
    Mostly I’ve just been content to spend time with my mother, and she said that our spending time together was fine by her.
    She said she needed me, and it was nice to be needed.
    She never made me feel as though I should be doing more with my life—like making money and having beers at the bar with friends—and I sometimes worry that her lax attitude was a mistake, especially while raising a fatherless boy.
    Now that Mom is no longer with us, I’ve been wondering if it’s time for me to find something to be passionate about. Perhaps before I turn forty. I’d like to have a beer with a friend at the bar—at least once.
    I’d like to take The Girlbrarian somewhere nice—perhaps the Water Works behind the art museum, where you can listen to the river flow.
    Wendy says that the “next phase of my life” could be my best. I want to believe her, but she is only a young girl who has not experienced much thus far in life. I like her, but I do not consider her a confidant.
    You are my confidant.
    I would like to have a beer with you at the bar, Richard Gere.
    What do you think?
    I would gladly heed your advice.
    Do you think I should become passionate about something?
    The more I research on the Internet, the more sympathetic I become toward your cause, Richard Gere, I must confess.
    The Dalai Lama seems like an extraordinarily nice man. I’ve been reading about him and his philosophies. He says that we must relinquish our sense of I or self.
    The Dalai Lama says, “We must recognize that the suffering of one person or one nation is the suffering of humanity. That the happiness of one person or nation is the happiness of humanity.”
    In the Dalai Lama’s book A Profound Mind , you wrote in the afterword that our lives are like the beam of light coming out of a movie projector, illuminating the screen, which is emptiness. I liked that. It was good—beautiful.
    Is it true?
    I will read more about Buddhism.
    But regarding my becoming passionate—maybe I should start with something smaller than taking on China.
    I can’t even speak with The Girlbrarian, and I’ve been secretly trying to do that for years now. I’m at a disadvantage because I’m not Richard Gere handsome. I’m six foot three inches tall with too much hair on my arms and in my ears, but not enough on the top of my head. Plus I do believe my nose isn’t symmetrical, even though no one has ever commented on this or made fun of it. But mirrors don’t lie.
    Sometimes I send The Girlbrarian messages with my mind, but I do not think she is telepathic. Sadly, I do not think I am telepathic either.
    I’d appreciate any input you could offer.
    Your admiring fan,
    Bartholomew Neil

4
    I WOULD EVENTUALLY HAVE TO GO INSIDE OF FATHER MCNAMEE AND TAKE INVENTORY
    Dear Mr. Richard Gere,
    Father McNamee seemed distracted this past Saturday night.
    First, he announced that Mass would be held in Mom’s honor, even though I had not requested it, nor had I filled out the required card, nor had I made a donation to the church.