I am going to write tonight as I don't know what the morning will bring. I am down tonight. It is physical. It is mental. I may be fine, but one can never tell. I may be overtaken by some if not many things.
I had to hurry to make lunch. I got up late with a foggy brain and had trouble focussing on the task at hand, i.e. writing the blog entry. The jumble was real. There was certainly a forecast of what was to come.
I am worried about having done an aerobic workout at the gym. I was breathing hard. Whatever was in the room, I certainly inhaled. Mutants? How can one be sure?
But lunch was outside and in the sunshine and with someone who genuinely likes me. How rare a thing? It is something truly wonderful.
My buddy from Cali, the mountain guide, sent me a belated b-day present. "Facial or massage," his message said. There was a phone number attached. Hmm. His message said, "O.K. man. Go get soft for an hour." A massage or a facial. Maybe I'll just get both.
In my own home town today, all the Perkins restaurants had banners wishing Tiger a speedy recovery.
If you don't know, don't worry about it. I couldn't believe how little readers of the blog cared about Tiger's accident. Waitresses all over town were wearing black in tribute to another American Hero.
The photo at the top of this post is going up for auction soon. It is one of the artist's finest works, I think, but it would be nothing without this model, so long and angular and confident. I envy this picture. I wish I could make such a thing. I hope the picture sells for a million dollars.
I am planning on a trip, perhaps this weekend. I am surprised at how hard it is to prepare after a year's lockdown. I don't remember what I need to take. I will spend tomorrow preparing. I think of driving north. I think of driving south. South, however, is more appealing. I may drive all the way to the Keys. Maybe. I may drive north to the redneck part of the state. The cat will have to live off wildlife, I guess. I hope she remembers how to hunt.
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It is morning now, and I don't know if I'll be able to get away this weekend. Getting away just seems impossible, and yet all I need do is get into the car and go. Or so it would seem. But life is rarely that simple. I mean, if it were, we would not have a need for art or literature, would we?