Monday, September 24, 2018
I just wrote a long piece about sex being the one place where we are all fantasy criminals, but I deleted it. I sounded like a right wing nut. Dildos and Japanese sex dolls. . . you get the idea. But it is not the time for that kind of talk. It is a time of Fear and Loathing, and as the good Doctor said, "I'm not like the others. I'm your friend."
I tried to pack for my L.A. trip yesterday. I am the worst packer in the world. It begins with making decisions. That is where I am weakest. I think of too many possibilities, too many scenarios. It is why I quit doing my own lawn. I would stand and look at the yard and think about all the things I could or should or would do. My man Henry just does the lawn. I need him to pack for me, too.
But I've decided to be minimal. One pair of jeans, two pairs of shorts, six plain t-shirts, two cotton poplin button ups, enough underwear and socks for a week, a pair of walking shoes and flip-flops. Done. I packed a camera bag and put almost all of them in it, but I am thinking of taking only one camera and five lenses, all of which will fit into a small shoulder bag. One charger. That is harder, though, than going without clothing. I still am not sure.
I looked at the weather for Palm Springs. The day I get there the high will be 107. Jesus. That's pretty hot. I guess I might pack a hat, too.
I haven't been out of town for about a year and a half, and that was for a workshop. It has been a long time since I have gone somewhere simply to wander and see. I hope I still have it in me. I am beginning to think that it is not only the knees and hips that time damages.
I woke up very late this morning, too late for anything. Now I must rush to get out the door. Everything is waiting.
Oh--the picture. I took this in the Miami arts district last time I was there. It was illustration for the writing I deleted. Feel free to fill in the blanks.