Aunt Thelma

Mom.

That's all I can think when I look at this photo.  Or maybe Aunt Thelma.  She just walked in from the street.  This is not a costume.  It is just her.  It is something right out of Betty Crocker.  O.K.  Betty Crocker never raised her hem (in public), but that is what gives the image its flavor.  "Mom," you want to say, "put your hem down!"  You know what all the boys in the neighborhood are saying, of course.  You've seen them hanging around the outside of the house at night hoping to get a peek.  "Jesus," they say, "what must that be like?" There is no hope for them, of course, and thus no danger.  They all know how feeble they would seem in the face of such luxury.  When she laughs, though--oh--the world seems awfully right.  But why would she show her legs like that?  Oh sweet Jesus, the world is such a beautiful mystery all you can do is ache with enjoyment.

That is about what I wanted to say concerning this picture.  That and I'm a fucking genius because truly, this was not part of a project.  She had simply brought her daughter, Little Anita, to shoot with me.  Anita is fifteen but looks much older.  But when I saw mom. . . .

O.K.  Just bullshitting.  There was no Little Anita.  But the other part is true.  Trust me.  I'm a writer.

Perhaps I am just giddy because this is the last day at the factory for awhile.  I have been exhausted and now I can sit in my underwear around the house as long as I wish.  I have become homebound and don't mind it at all because I am reading much more and have a lot of books I'm looking forward to.  And since I'm substituting strong teas for whiskey, I am better off at home.  They don't serve good teas out, and it is much more dangerous to go out all jacked up on tea than it is to simply drink whiskey.  Fuck knows what craziness might ensue.

And I am loading up on vegetables, too.  Nadja promises me that if I eat a red pepper and an avocado a day, I will reverse time.  I am hoping to get down to my original weight of eight pounds, eight ounces and to have the skin of a baby.  I am going to begin grilling my vegetables every night with a light brushing of olive oil and herbs.  Mmm.  And I will sauté cabbages and shred carrots and peppers into them.  Jesus, I'm getting a bit excited just talking about this.  Figs and dates and aged cheeses.  I may even break down and try Quinoa and other trendy super foods.  It's the thing to do.  Ask around.

But before all that, I have to take care of everything I've let pile up.  It is daunting.  But when it is done, I will feel it.  I carry it with me too much now.

By the end of the week, I will begin sending out my head shots to Hollywood.  They won't need Brad Pitt or George Clooney any more.

I'd better call her Aunt Thelma because she is going to do bad things, I can tell.  Would she?  I don't know?  I am like the kids outside the house.  A thing like that would simply be too much.