On With It
A three day week. In my case, three days, a holiday, a semi-work day, then a weekend. A vacation starting the 18th through the 5th. I need them to keep my sanity, which sounds nice, "keep my sanity", some literary drama here, but yeah, I need the time. So today, although fuzzy and not overly productive, has not been so bad, there's even an old Ally McBeal episode running at nine. Doesn't matter which one, they're all the same. I missed last week's episode through alcohol and sloth. May do the same tonight. All of this is good, a good mix of thought and feeling, holidays coming, the Fourth of July, fireworks, the Gay Pride parade black and white photos back (most of them crap) all mixed with aged in wood alcohol and off the wall television. More like a Friday, in other words.
Timothy White died today of a heart attack. One of the legendary early Rolling Stone writers, author, current editor of Billboard magazine. Fifty years old. Fuck. I have the thought I should do things I've been putting off cause you can't tell, you just can't tell. He was fifty and I'm pushing sixty. Nothing too earth shaking, these things I've been putting off, but things I'd rather do now if there turns out to be no later. (Long period of introspection here, I'll let you skip it because you've been good and deserve a break and I'll skip it too because it's one of those "things" on my list: stop the introspection, get on with it.)
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