This one isn’t meant to be funny those will come later this week. They include how not to pick up French Women, Rope Bondage Skills Go Fishing, and a much overdue An Evening with the Elusive Mr. Wyz . Instead this is an explanation for myself as much as anything.

So I’ve been gone for a while, not just lurking, reading, and not saying much but truly gone. I went away from everything from all technology, TV, newspapers, and most importantly work and phones. I took up a brief residence in Quebec at a cabin that only had solar power, and until my stupid ass installed a satellite dish just before my departure no connection to the outside world without a 5 mile drive to an outfitter or a 20 mile drive into “town”. Town being a relative term.

I learned a lot like my 75 year old uncle’s profane vocabulary and sexual conquests far exceed mine but like the way a hat sits on top of my head I was reminded how much of what we do is genetic as I listened to his exploits and watched ladies at the local outfitter and bars 50 years younger than him flirt shamelessly in several languages. He never used the word Poly but that is certainly what his life was and maybe still is.

My mind cleared enough after only being around a few hours to know that an 18 French speaking woman was far too young and way too much of a distraction for me to bother with despite her ravishing beauty. Instead I put on my boots, headed out to the boat and went fishing. Before getting there I could have cared less about going fishing. There are beautiful women everywhere but rarely as part of my life is there a simple tranquil simplicity and unless Miss Julie turned into a Northern Pike or Walleye I had not the time or interest telling her she was my daughter’s age…a slight lie by about 3 years.

I walked through tribal Indian lands (with permission) to my uncle’s moose camp he shared with his best friend for 60 years. It was odd to me being mostly of European descent walking for miles through tribal lands. I felt like an intruder, like I didn’t belong and as we went down the river on a canoe and I commented to that effect I was reminded that despite the rest of the blood in my veins that I am in fact part Iroquois. Something I’ve always known and is obvious by my complexion. Still it felt odd and as I drove through the Indian towns and visited my uncles old friends I realized that most of the Indians there looked just like me, well except for the beard.

I didn’t go for a run but I drove and ATV at 60 miles an hour down back road for cardio. I was told how my uncle’s 12 year grand daughter could out drive me. He raced cars for years but we disagree over cars and racing but he was right I’d slow down on turns and she would slide through them it’s the age old debate of dirt track vs. concrete I suppose.

I watched a moose swim in the Ottawa river, Sadie the resident black lab would wake me up three times a night by licking my feet. I had eggs and bacon for breakfast and whatever I damn well pleased for lunch. I didn’t shave, I wore the same dirty base ball cap. I walked through the woods with an ax and chopped trees that had fallen on the trails. Navigated a bog with out muck boots. I only needed two cups of coffee a day and 6 hours was more than enough sleep despite the physical activity. Its not the physical that had been killing but the emotional tied to work.

There was the Old Blond woman in town who tolerated my destruction of her language with a smile as I cursed in English at the frozen stacks of ice blocks.  The 40 something at a bar who found me very fascinating which as to why I have no idea.

After about 10 days like that I returned but kept myself in exile (until today ) or in a few cases late last night with the exception of twitter. I live in a world where I know what cities are in what time zones around the world. For a short time I didn’t care. There were no lawyers or bankers, no squabbling over otherwise meaningless words. I returned back to my home town to find the Chesty Blonde waiting for me. I slid back into my fancy clothes and loafers.

Within hours I sipped wine instead of guzzling beer. I stopped thinking in my own bastardized version of French. I worried about the effects of eating a dozen doughnuts on ones body while driving 12 hours. I ordered great sushi and over priced vodka. Sat in the lobby of my favorite hotel and mingled with the beautiful people. I saw old friends and was genuinely sad when standing on the grounds of my old club and wondering the streets of my favorite suburban village.  I looked at my most enduring fetish – German Cars.  which is the only one where I participate as a masochist in when it comes to the repair bills.

Unfortunately that sadness was only a precursor to the feelings we would have as I took the Blonde and our daughters away from their old friends and their old lives once again sneaking away from a party Saturday night. It was a rough first few hours as we headed back to where we now live. So today I woke with dread knowing that I hadn’t looked at my corporate email in 16 days. Fried up my car and headed to the gym.  in the course of 4 miles I went from dread, to anger, anger to rage and rage gave way to what it always does.  Lust and greed.

So I’m back, maybe with a vengeance.    Maybe not. Suddenly I need more money than ever and for the first time in my life understand why that uncle of mine has spent the last 25 years selling off what he had built, commercial properties, bars and restaurants, land and farms, a very profitable construction  company worth millions and sits on a mining operation tat he’s never profited from just letting the minerals stay in the ground.  Because sometimes simple and peaceful is better than rich and hassled.

I like to think I could do that, but those demons just like the one that loves those German cars are far too strong.

But I’m back, no planes until next week only thousands of emails to answers, all my friends blogs to catch up on and the warm humorous knowledge that I left the rope bag open beside our bed and we had a few extra unexpected house guests while gone. Funny it had been zipped up and slid to the edge on the night stand.