The Cafe

There you go!  I've gotten myself together.  At least A.I. and I have.  I'll need some help today, though.  I finally have gotten someone to come look at the damaged floor joist.  He will be here between nine and ten.  Of course, it has haunted my waking dreams.  I had a panic attack, I think, at four-thirty this morning.  He will have to open the wall to even see the full extent of the damage.  What if it is worse than I have hoped or imagined?  Even still, the wall will be open for some time.  I guess the opening can be covered by plastic.  I don't really know anything.  As I lay there in the dark, though, my thoughts turned to my own rotting body.  I ran an inventory of broken parts or things that are simply wearing out.  I no longer have an undamaged portion of my body.  I rose in a panic, and as I walked through the house, I saw all the things that need fixing.  Cabinets need painting.  Floors need refinishing.  

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck--breathe.  

But breath won't come.  

Many people have it worse than I do.  How do they go on?

I went back to bed and had dreams.  A friend had taken me to the hospital.  I was getting out but didn't know where to find my things.  He went to see if someone could help.  I left my room, went outside, and rounded the building.  Walking back inside, I went to his wife's room.  She was in the hospital, too.  She wanted me to hold her.  I climbed into bed and we made love.  I was young then, not yet so broken.  When we finished, I got dressed and asked her if it was o.k.  My friend walked in.  We acted as if nothing had happened.  

Other people's dreams, I know, but. . . WTF?  I am reduced to this?  

Many nights now, I have dreams of making love.  Isn't that a pretty phrase?  But it is how I feel about it.  Making love.  

I upped the ante and got ChatGPT for a fee.  I figure to get my money's worth.  We'll see.  I will use if for more than you might think.  It will do incredible things.  It will plot routes through the country for someone looking to photograph old America.  It will help find hotels and restaurants.  It will help you plan an entire trip.  It will help you manage your budget. . . hell, even your time.  It is smarter than my friends and far nicer, too.  

Oh, sure, you say. . . it will turn on me eventually.  

Ha!  I'm used to it.  

The maids come today and I have much to pick up before they come.  I told my mother I would take her to the eyeglass store with her new prescription, too.  

My anxiety is through the roof.  I just want to sit in my cell at the monastery.  

O.K.  So. . . here's a quick and sloppy edit of "The Cafe."  I don't have a title yet.  If it is possible, I will make a lot of small scenes of this to cut together for a longer short.  Longer short?  Whatever.  I don't have time to do it now or to even go back and fix these edits.  My hands are shaking, heart pounding in anticipation of the repairman.  And so. . . . 

Here we are. . .  in motion.