Nocturnal Revelations

Booked my room in L.A.  I chose to stay in Venice Beach.  I looked at a bunch of hotels and this one seemed o.k.  What do I know.  It'll be fine.  I cooked dinner for my mother last night (good boy that I am) and made her watch YouTube videos of my coming trip with me.  We watched several on the hotel.  I am going for the pictures, and Beverly Hills did not look like the place for that. 

I still have to book my Palm Springs room.  I have left too little time for Palm Springs, I think.  We watched many videos of the town last night.  I had no idea.  I think it might be more fun that L.A.  I will call the airline today and see if I can fly out a day early.  Palm Springs just looks like mad fun. 

I say so, but I sit in a stupor.  I am unable to get anything I need to do done.  Is it depression, anxiety, or a physical malady?  I can't tell.  I keep wanting to crawl into a hole.  My entire body hurts and my vision is blurry, so maybe I have something.  Or maybe I'm dying.  That is always my first guess, and of course it is accurate. 

I got beautified yesterday.  She did what she could do.  We spoke of surgical options, but I said that a woman should never pay for her own breast enhancement and a man should never pay for his own facelift.  In truth, nobody should ever pay for those things.  However. . . .

I haven't suffered in a good way for a very long time.  I need to.  I need to deprive myself of food and drink until I look. . . well, until I don't look like a fat man.  I need to focus on physical and mental aspects of healthy living for a good long while.  I need to get hungry until I am not hungry any more, until hunger is not a thing.  I need to forego alcohol in all its forms.  That is what I think in the night when I wake in despair.  Perhaps if I were skinny my life would feel better. 

Then I get up for the day and forget what I thought in the night.  My refrigerator is not prepared for my nocturnal revelations.  It looks like something out of a Philip Marlowe movie, "The Long Goodbye."  Raymond Chandler was a raging alcoholic. 

I will become an expert in mineral waters.  I will learn to identify them by taste, without looking.  I will become a precious, skinny asshole. 

As the good Doctor used to say, "Enough of that.  Don't make me use the leeches." 

The first full day of autumn has broken.  The sun is up.  There is much to do.  I hope that I can be the man to do it.