This Is How We Party

After shooting on Friday night, I was exhausted.  I was exhausted before that, I think.  I've been exhausted for some time.  But afterwards, after shooting and dinner, I went to bed early.  Early to bed on a Friday night.  That is my life.  And I didn't wake until. . .  12:30. . .   1:30. . .  2:30. . .  3:30.  Etc.  I got up at six feeling like a dead man.  I did what I do in the mornings, then went early to print some pics.  I printed until mid-afternoon, then hungry and achy, I stopped on my way home at Wendy's and bought a Grilled Chicken Combo.  I was going to go to the athletic club, but my body hurt and hummed and my brain was in a coma, so I went home and back to bed.  Waking up late-afternoon feeling awful, I went to the computer and began to work on some images from the night before.  Hours later, I realized I'd not showered or brushed my teeth all day.  I needed to think.  Get out of the house.  I thought of going to the athletic club after all, but it was already too late.  I took a shower and went to the studio.  It was six.  My body hurt all over.

I talked to the True Artist who had sold a big encaustic piece and was on his way to the client's house to hang it.  They wanted him to hang around and have some wine.

"Wine with the artist," I said.  "They want to feel the inspiration.  Tell them you are reclusive but that you really do like people.  Tell them your deep secrets.  They will like that.  Tell them you work all day fueled only by mixed nuts and beer and the desire to get home to ravage your wife.  Tell them you only work when you have an erection which is most of the time, fortunately.  They will want to buy all of your work.  Everything.  This is a big opportunity."

I was being bitter, of course.  He lives on his talents.  I slave away in a factory squandering mine.  So I see it.

There was a big moon in the sky as he pulled away, not quite full.  The evening was cooling off after a very muggy day.  The sky was violet and rich.  "I will be in bed in a couple hours," I thought.  Others would be getting ready for dates, for dinners and movies and strolls on the Boulevard.  I wanted to take pain killers and smoke pot and fall into a coma.

I bought grilled chicken and a Greek salad at a Greek restaurant, then stopped at the liquor store for wine and scotch, then at the health food store for supplements.  I am careful that way.  And afterwards, safe at home, I ate and drank and thought about relieving all my pain both physical and spiritual.  I am careful that way, too.

But oh, the pictures, they are turning into something.  The model likes them and so do I.  You will see.  There will be a few days worth, at least.  But now I must go back to the strong drink and television.  And there will be the other meds, too.  Saturday night.  This is how we party.

*     *     *     *     *

The combination of strong drink, herb, and pharmaceuticals did not help.  I still woke every hour.  Now in the dirtiness of a muggy dawn that promises ancient miseries, I wonder what to do.  This was not the weekend I dreamed.