I read through many old blog posts yesterday. The best ones were funny and had illustrative dialog. I wasn't always disappointed by the photos. I don't want to write to tell you about my troubles. Those may be the least interesting posts. Life sketches, I think, are best.
I need more interaction.
I haven't left the house for two days. That would be fine if I were Howard Hughes with people at my beck and call, but it isn't like that at all.
Red wrote from Amsterdam--"Wish you were here." Atta girl.
I've not managed to finish a roll of film in weeks.
Last night after dinner and drinks and whatever else, just at "bedtime," I went to the computer and worked up some old images while listening to "the music." Oh, man, I love "the music."
I never heard anything about the playlist I sent my friend, though. Cringe.
I worked on things that I could never post here and listened to songs I've already posted. I didn't get to bed until one.
The biggest armadillo I have ever seen walked across my deck a few minutes ago. It had to be from Texas. It is probably pregnant. When I opened the kitchen door and walked outside, it did a slow scurry--yes, that is what it was--across the street. I think it was trying to trick me. I know it is going to come back and go under my house. I will go out in a bit and find where it has burrowed and block it up. I'm always afraid that I will trap the thing beneath the house where it will do grave damage before it dies and stinks for weeks. Now's my chance!
Other people's dreams are so boring, I know. I've said so a hundred times. I'm just saying that mine have been vivid for weeks now, and I wake remembering them perfectly. Some are on a loop, repeating over and over with slight variations. One night, I had a VERY vivid dream about my ex-wife. I NEVER dream about her. But there she was, as she was.
Maybe if I lived a little more, I would dream a little less.
But for the armadillo lines, I've managed to do just what I said I shouldn't.
Oh, wait. . . something did happen the other day when I went to the grocery store. I went to an empty cashier's station and started putting my groceries on the conveyor belt when I heard someone behind me say something about "this asshole." I turned with a smile thinking it would be someone I knew, but it wasn't. It was a man and a woman. He wasn't looking at me but she was with wide, pleading eyes.
"What?"
He kept talking but I couldn't hear what he was saying. She, however, staring straight into my eyes, said, "He's just kidding. He was talking about how slow I am."
"Do you want paper or plastic?"
My smile was now a grin. "Paper, but I have to deal with," turning, "this asshole first."
Her face was strained. He didn't look up.
What the fuck, I thought. The cashier boy just kept ringing things up. The halfwit bagging the groceries was concentrating with difficulty on figuring out what should go into the bag first. Nothing more was said.
Hell of a story, right? That's all I got. That's what I mean. I wish there were more, but that's it.
Maybe I should go back to work.
No comments:
Post a Comment