Man oh man. . . the days come more quickly than I can prepare for them. I never have enough photographs anymore, at least not ones of which some people might approve, and I can't keep up with the business end of things. I got an email from the roofing company asking me if I had gotten something notarized. I hadn't known I was supposed to. They can't start work until I do. I thought my part of the job was simply to get the big bucketful of money.
The house is a mess of photo gear and the detritus of my living in it once again. I have at least an hour's prep work before the maids get here. And I have a lot of prep for an upcoming home studio session once again.
I can't keep things straight in my head.
Do you know that old ELO song, "Don't Bring Me Down," the line that goes, "Don't bring me down. . . Bruce"? That exact line was playing over the speakers at my mother's therapy place when I got a text telling me that the fellow who hired me for a lifetime of work at the factory had died. Now that was weird.
What was weirder is that when I pulled the song up on YouTube, it had the lyrics on screen, and the line isn't what I thought it to be all this time. It goes, "Don't bring me down. . . groos." WTF does "groos" mean (link)?
Bruce was a nice guy. He was a "published" poet. Quotes because it was all vanity press stuff "his people" would raise money to pay for. I guess, though, that it would be hard to get a company interested in publishing a volume of poems.
Late in life, after marrying his college "sweetheart" and adopting a daughter who was then grown and had her own child, he came to my office one day to say he was getting a divorce. I knew his wife and daughter well.
"Oh, my. Why? What happened?"
"I guess we're good enough friends that I can tell you. I'M GAY!"
Of course the mind automatically begins to run through things, but surprisingly, at least to me, I burst out laughing.
"Jesus, Bruce. . . I hope we're good enough friends that I can find this. . . uh, not funny, but. . . I mean. . . I don't know. It's just such a seismic shift."
He got a new haircut after that and began his internet dating life. He was in his sixties.
RIP old pal.
It was a week of death for the factory, I guess. The fellow who chaired my hiring committee also died. It seems to be going around.
I keep getting similar messages from different people lately.
How are you doing?
I don't know how to respond. It is unnerving.
I've had some good times. I've had some bad times. Sometimes I have no times at all.
Maybe I should just tell them about my allergy.
I'm looking pretty shabby. Haven't seen my beautician for a very long time. I asked her if I should get a beauty treatment. She said, "let me see," then didn't text back. What happened to the love?
I'm not invited to parties, I can't get my hair done. . . what is going on? I need to check my horoscope.
I took a pretty good fall yesterday off a platform at the gym. My gymroid friends were all standing there when it happened. It seemed that I had a lot of time to think before I hit the floor, sort of falling in slow motion. They all looked shocked. Did the old crippled man get hurt? I could have. Probably should have. But it didn't seem like it. I got up with a smart comment and blamed them for not catching me, then I continued my workout.
Last night in bed, I woke with lower back pain. Hmm.
O.K. I have much to do and little motivation, so I had better get started. Winter is ending and the Spring work will commence, and you know what that means. BBC.
I don't know, though, if I have it in me.
There is only one way to find out. And so. . . .
Boy. . . was this a shitty post. Apologies. But they can't all be winners, can they?
No comments:
Post a Comment