Beyond Imagination
Friday. So, another week of sloth with a head that is carrying on its own battle with whatever it is that's causing this aching head and sinuses inside. I am due to get together later this afternoon with the usual crew to sample the latest batch of beer at Mr. S's, which I guess I'm up for, but I had two glasses of red wine last night at a Chinese restaurant and found the effect both stronger than I thought it should be and not altogether pleasant. Is it because I was drinking wine and not sake? Was it because I was drinking at all? I go on about this drinking thing - more so than any sane fella should - and so I've been sticking with water and diet Coke these last number of days. I passed on the Scotch whiskey tasting Tuesday I'd bought a hundred dollar ticket to attend (Mr. H able to take my place) and didn't regret it. Last night's two glasses of wine I don't regret, but I wouldn't do it again if I knew I'd get the same result.
Do you expect any sympathy for this?
No, I write it down without particular thought to look at it later, sometimes, and sometimes not. I think it has some use in putting things into context. Now that I'm no longer worried about my employer finding it, I really don't care. I have this idea truth is better than fiction - the hiding causing a negative hit on the psyche - although I know many men and women who take these things very seriously and close to their vests who would bounce me out of their lives if I were to mention them here in other than the most plain vanilla of contexts. Beside, I don't know any really outrageous people, the old underground comix scene was for me what everyday folks did to maintain their balance: the parties, the dalliances, the leather masks and fish net stockings just artistic touches, a little salt and pepper added to everyday living.
You're bullshitting.
I'm always bullshitting which means I'm never bullshitting. (No bull. Really.)
Then again this head thing has to get better or I'm going to end up sitting in front of this computer and never going out on the street with a camera again.
I'm not particularly pleased with the photograph up top, I probably should have run the one under the logo. The only thing it has going for it, I suppose, is the cute teddy bear on the back of a man dressed in leather who is undoubtedly looking to do whatever people in leather may find exciting. Better to shoot whatever he finds exciting, I suspect, the teddy bear then adding an extra somewhat jarring dimension. But again, I'm not getting out enough.
But you will.
Oh, I will. Something's going on, although I'm not certain what. I have no doubt the inner me is making plans and will mention them to me at some point. “We are taking a ten thousand mile trip to the tip of South America, Mr. Prop. Please pack your kit.” I'm hoping that's not it or, if it's it, it involves air travel, hotels with room service and strange ladies who speak an exotic language.
And prefer old coots who carry a camera?
Some conceits are delusional and beyond imagination.
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