Cape And Fly
Sunday. I went to bed just after ten last night and got up this morning at ten-thirty. Was I making up for sleep lost the night before? No. Was I making up for sleep lost the night before that? No. Was I making up for a dissolute life spent with the usual crew abusing the usual substances? Could be, hard to tell. Given the range of possibilities in this burning the candle at both ends business I'm a piker, although I seem to be catching up in the sake department. But, well. Back from breakfast after noon, sitting here with the head fuzzed up, but not all that fuzzed up, thinking I'll take some of those pills the doctor prescribed to see if they change my outlook.
Have you gotten all the wedding photographs done for delivery tomorrow?
I just need to make copies for delivery on my way to San Francisco tomorrow to meet Mr. H for lunch, Mr. H out here from the east coast at the moment visiting his significant other over the Thanksgiving holidays.
And when are you going to be saying the same: I'm staying with my girlfriend over the holidays and my attitude is much better?
Probably never. I rarely meet women my age anymore and the younger ones - some of whom to my disbelief (or delusion) seem to be up for adventure - are way too young to be fooling around with an old coot who needs a nap in the afternoon.
Old man, I'd say you were too full of bullshit if you weren't so naive. Napping is one of those things couples do very well together.
And what kind of person, do you suppose, is attracted to keeping a journal? My problem as a writer is I need another load, another ton or so to top off my bullshit container, giving me needed subject matter. And maybe more demons. I'm too laid back, not enough disorder in my attention disorder, to need the kind of psychoanalysis a true writer requires to put it all down on paper.
And that's your cop out?
As good as many I've heard. I'm not adverse to going with “naive” if necessary. I'm way beyond embarrassment.
You really are a youngster. Maybe you should rethink this avoiding younger women bit.
Maybe I should put on my Superman cape and fly to Las Vegas.
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