I've a dilemma this morning. I thought about writing tales of old, but I won't have photos for that, so the photos I post may have nothing at all to do with the stories I tell. That's o.k. I guess. But, and this is the bigger issue, I'm not sure I won't wear out on telling tales within a few days. I'll want to write about something else. I'll want to tell you the most recent adventures of the Caped Crusader. That's what I think. That's what I know. If I were a cleverer fellow, I might be able to work both in some way, but I'd be spending far too much time working on a blog entree that costs me more than it profits me.
So. . . I don't know.
I tried to be productive yesterday. After the gym, I showered and shaved (for the first time in many, many months), put on a black t-shirt and my groovy new hipster pants and a pair of high tops for walking around Gotham and headed out the door. Sort of. I tried on various things before I settled on that. I'd start for the car and then remember something I needed. It took forever to gather up a couple cameras and some film. But at last, I made it.
When I got to Gotham, though, I was hungry, so I went to the little ramen shop and got noodles and a beer. That made me pretty lazy, but I told myself I needed to power through. It was low stakes. I had brought a toy camera I had modified years ago, a plastic Holga, and that was what I was going to use. I hit the sidewalk and headed 'round the block. But I was struggling. It was hot, and I was sweaty. Long pants had been a mistake. And I wasn't having fun. All I wanted to do was take a nap. So, having travelled less than a mile, I stumbled back to my car.
At home, I ripped off my clothes and fell into bed.
When I got up, I was off. I felt lousy. Still, I hadn't been to my mother's for a few days, and I needed to go over and see her new fence.
It was quite a struggle.
I was not my usual fun self.
I came home.
I didn't want to eat. I didn't want to cook. I made a margarita, fed the cat, and sat outside in the muggy grey end of day light.
I started watching the news but turned it off. Slow motion misery is getting to me. I decided not to drink too much, so I made a pot of tea and ate part of a gummy. I turned on Dandy Warhol and then staggered off to bed.
Somewhere in the night. . . how in the fuck do people do this! I was jetting down a torrential river toward the void. All night, I was haunted by terrible thoughts and dreams. I've always thought and said that I have been lucky in life, but last night, I was the world's biggest loser. Really, I though? This is how I've ended up? This is my finale? I trembled and shook in the blackness. Why is it so dark in here, I wondered? Where is the light? I need a light.
I was sweating. The air was hot and muggy. It was the pressure cooker before the coming storm. I got up and turned the a.c. on and went back to bed. Everything hurt, my back, my hips, my shoulders. I've been broken too many times, I thought. My body's a wreck.
I got up with the light relieved and weary.
I think it all began when I saw the reflection of myself sitting with the bowl of ramen at the restaurant. Quasimodo revisited.
"Look what time has made of me!"
I am momentarily resolute. I will live on oatmeal and champagne until I reach my initial weight of eight pounds eight ounces. That is my thinking. now, anyway.
"I'm hideous! Look away!"
I was going to begin telling you about my trip across the country after college. It is a picaresque, a story of initiation like "Fritz the Cat." It starts with a bus ride and ends with one, too. Six months crisscrossing the country. That's a lot of writing. I don't know. Maybe I'll see what I can do.