Saturday, December 9, 2017


Saturday morning at home rather than at a street photography workshop in Miami.  A bad decision, no doubt.  One in a series of bad decisions.  I will try to be as productive here at home as possible, though, will try not to sit with that million mile stare.  Who knows.

I watched a Bill Burr comedy special from 2008 last night before bed.  It was great.  It will never be great again.  New optics.  That one will be only for those who remember.

We live in disproportionate times now.  The penalty need not fit the crime.  Or, perhaps, the accusation.

I am preparing now for the Perfect World New Order.  I think it is one I may have had a hand in making.

Oh why, I whine, didn't I go to Miami?

I think I've forgotten how to eat.  My diet has been shit for about a week.  Not necessarily bad, but forgetful.  I don't have the right food in the house.  When I go to the grocery store, I get confused and buy silly things.  When I get home, I remember what I went for.  I'll cut up an avocado and whatever I can find to go with it.  There are some cherry tomatoes in a half empty container.  I forget how I like to dress them.  Salt.  Lime juice.  Balsamic vinegar.  The avocado too soft, the tomatoes just edible.  Another glass of wine.  Still hungry, I look in the fridge.  Cookies.  And scotch.  A couple, then I remember peanut butter.  What can I put it on?  No bread in the house, of course.  I find an apple in the bottom of a bowl.  I wash it, the skin wrinkled and pulling away from the fruit.  It should be o.k.  Fuck!  The peanut butter jar is empty.  Is it worth stirring up a new jar?  I hate stirring the new jar.  I do a bad job and slather some of the very oily peanut butter (I'll have nothing but the dry stuff when I get to the bottom of the jar) on a slice of apple.  O.K.  Not bad.  A glass of milk.  Some more slathered apple.  I look back in the fridge.  There is some soup I made last weekend.  Would that still be good?  Another scotch.

When I get up in the morning, I am hungry.  I think to make oatmeal, but I only left enough milk in the carton for coffee the night before.  No breakfast, I decide.  I'll need an early lunch, but at work, everyone has brought theirs.  I salvage a tin of Louisiana Hot Sauce Fish Steaks from a drawer.  I have some stale crackers.  I go to the coke machine.  I eat with the others.  Hungry, I raid a secretary's candy dish.  I'll have to make this all up at dinner.  First the gym.  When I get to the grocery store, I don't want to cook.  Amy's macaroni and cheese.  A can of tuna.  I remember I need wine.


Fragments of memory and meals.  Fragments of thought.  I need sleep aids.  I need to quit taking them.

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