Shouldofs

This post may be incoherent.  I didn't sleep last night, at least not well.  It angers me as it had been a pretty good day.  But before bed, I watched a documentary on Norm Macdonald's life and my dreams were filled with that.  Dreams?  That's not quite right.  Old Norm had been sick for a long time.  He was fighting a losing battle.  After nine years of marriage, he got divorced and never dated again.  Other than working, he went nowhere.  He didn't go out.  Rather, he spent the last ten years of his life largely alone in his apartment where he read the classics.  It reminded me of something familiar.  

Later, in bed, I'd fall asleep for a brief moment and dream I was teaching a class, but I got disoriented and confused and didn't know what I was doing.  I told he class to take a break, but only a few came back.  Then Norm and I were by a river.

Wait!  Am I talking about my dreams?  Good God, man.

The good news is that I can go back to bed.  

But the day had been good.  Ish.  I got a text from a buddy I had hired a good while ago at the factory.  He was a writer for all the bigs, published in The Times, The Post, Variety, etc.  He edited for Interview Magazine.  As more publications became digital and print died, he moved into academia.  Yesterday, however, he reported that he was editing again Assouline Publications.  

"Known for art books  Big photography. But great writing . NYer level . I’m impressed . I’m editing for them right now . Manuscripts . Like I used to . May start pitching them. Freelance for now . Thought I lost my skills after academic work but hanging in." 

He also urged me to get my photos into a gallery.  Yea.  I got that from several sources, too--C.C., Travis, the Fashion Editor. . . . 

I am, however, both lazy and insecure.  Still, I am culling the prints.  There are big piles all over the house right now.  Just the Polaroid pics.  We'll see. 

After working on the photo project and making a trip to the gym, I went to the Cafe Strange where I wrote and got some tea, then to Fresh Market where I bought fresh sushi grade tuna and the makings of a big tuna kobachi poke bowl.  Then it was off to my mother's.  I had been busy all day, no lying around, no napping.  I was feeling productive.  When I got home, I made the evening cocktail and sat with the cat outside on the deck.  The days are getting shorter and the deck is much more comfortable now in the late afternoon, the sun having fallen further into the western sky, the shadows long, the air a baby blue.  There is still a month of summer left, but the shortening days are good.  I've had too much hideous daylight, too much brightness.  The shorter days and the longer shadows are soothing.  There is a softness and a succoring there.

After the cocktail, I made the kobachi and brought it outside.  I fed the cat giving her pieces of the raw tuna for a treat.  

My New Old Friend and I wrote back and forth for awhile.  Not quite dinner company, but it was nice.  The day was going swimmingly.  

But bedtime was another matter.  

Selavy.  Life is full of trouble, and geniuses like Norm Macdonald and I are content to be alone and read while people are at the bars a-partying.  That is what the gymroids think I do.  There was a group text last night asking me if I went up to the Irish pub to see a girl.  They were all curious.  Maybe I shouldn't mythologize as much as I do.  People are hungry for a good tale.  

I simply sent them a picture of Trump's mugshot and said he was a real pussy, that Hitler never would have surrendered like that.  That should be the takeaway.  

But maybe I should have gone to see that girl.  Just like I should take a portfolio of photos around to the galleries.  Man. . . there are a lot of shouldofs in life.  No matter.  Life should not be full of regret except for ex-wives and girlfriends.  I should hope they have at least one deep regret and a terrible longing.  As I do.  Those are regrettable regrets, but what can you do?

Selavy.  We take what we can get.  Like shorter days and a summer wind.