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.

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