Saturday, April 11, 2015
. . . and then after shooting practically every day and night for two solid weeks. . . this week, every model cancelled the day of the shoot. I was relieved each time, but now I realize the cumulative effect is devastating. I get sick of the rigamarole--all of it--and want to lead a "normal" life. No more fits and starts, just the slow motion travesty that is ever-present.
I realize that I have been sick, though. It was a malady more than a straight out illness. I was tired and slow of brain and foot. I know this now that it is passing.
And so last night after another cancellation, I went to the gym and then to my favorite bar for cocktails and shrimp tacos. I hadn't been, I realized, for over a month. Life changes in a month. Recognizably. Then a phone call, an agreement. I pick up a bottle of small batch rye and a designer ginger ale. A couple drinks and then a search for sushi. And in spite of the mushy tuna that was not al dente, the night turns out well. I stay up late. In the morning, of course, I am tired.
But that can be fixed. I will go back to bed and let music and weak, cloud-filtered sunlight put me out for another hour or two. Later, perhaps, shopping. I need things. My friend needs things. Of course there will be food, drink. . . .
And there is the promise of travel. That alone is sustenance. There may still be adventure.