It is wonderful to spend a day without needing to account for your time, to wake, read, write, drink coffee until you can drink no more, go tot he gym, take a shower then meet somebody for lunch before coming home for a nap you do not take instead frittering away the afternoon on various non-essential things, to sit at a computer to work on old images because you want to rather than need to, suddenly realizing that all you have consumed in the entire day is a a pot of coffee, a wahoo sandwich, two glasses of sangria, two rum and cokes, and finally, two glasses of scotch, deciding on a late dinner alone at your favorite sushi restaurant where you drink sake and eat your regular order talking to no one, coming home to have another scotch and to work on more images late into the night knowing the next day, too, is all your own.
Healing the psyche.
I think I will ride my bike today and go finish the cleaning I started a month ago in the studio. I haven't been since.
And of course there is dinner with mother. I will make something simple tonight. Spaghetti.
Or maybe I'll go to the famous beach where they have their annual surfing competition every Labor Day weekend. I took pictures there many years ago when I was doing my surfing series.
Probably not, though. That might take too much psychic effort. I'm even fatter and older than I was then. Anyone seeing me with a camera in my hand would surely shoot me or call the cops or shoot me then call the cops. They could use the "creepy" chapter of the Stand Your Ground law as their defense.
"You should have seen him. This fat old guy came at me with his camera and I felt really threatened."
Not that today wouldn't be as good as any to be shot, but I would probably survive with a debilitating wound and life would be even more difficult than it has been. Hell no, I'm staying home where things are nice and peaceful.
Or not. I can do what I want. Whichever way the psychic winds blow. . . .