Enough For Me
Thursday. I left early today to pick up a package at the UPS station down toward the airport thinking I'd get home well before five, kick back and take it easy. I picked up a large bottle of Corona on the way, which I probably didn't need, but figured it was better than picking up a bottle of sake at Beverages and More that would go all too nicely with the pair of Japanese sake sets that were sitting in the UPS package. Two “Love Rust” sake sets. They're much nicer than they looked on the web and they looked pretty nice on the web. There were other choices, the blue set connoting something about money, but I figured better love than money as the caption for the soon to be famous photograph where the medics have arrived and are prying the (empty) sake cup from my fingers: “Stone Cold Dead with Sake Cup”, 13" x 24", on linen, color.
We are wandering, are we not?
We are at all times swimming, my man, in deep shit and denial. Coherent writing on demand is nonsense, most of the time you have to put up with drivel. But so what? It's Thursday, a half day tomorrow, the company Christmas party starting in the early afternoon. I and my anarchist friends will undoubtedly skip the Christmas Party for a smaller party of our own, but then that's our routine, our tradition. What are the holidays about if not tradition?
Friday. Late in the afternoon. I did walk down to Jack London Square to the office party, but it was crowded, the tables full, the atmosphere (inside my head) depressing, so I walked over to Beverages and More and purchased two bottles of inexpensive sake. You may have noted I skipped the sake yesterday afternoon, settling for beer, a single bottle. I have not tapped the sake (yet), but I have washed out the new sake set and it is drying on top of the microwave oven. It could be drying anywhere, of course, but it happens to be drying on top of the microwave oven overlooking the two bottles of sake sitting on the counter beside it.
So far neither have called out my name, although I am obviously thinking about them if I am writing about them here. Am I being paranoid? Undoubtedly. Infantile? Generally, but the words are just rolling off the keyboard and that's good enough for me.
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