Leave the Red Shoes Behind

Q often writes about a good glass of wine in the morning.  I try to put off drinking until evening.  But opening the refrigerator door to get cream for my coffee this morning, I spied the Guinness sitting on the shelf, and it looked especially tempting.  I am off for a few days, and after the stress of the past week, I figured, "What the hell.  I deserve it.  What is one lost day?"  But I dutifully grabbed the cream instead.  I will try to hold off until lunch.

I am beat and look it.  I will spend the days trying to get healthy again, exercising, reading, sitting in cafes, and catching a little sun.  And once I'm beautiful again, the world will be right.

I told myself that I would spend my time fixing up my place, but when my eyes opened this morning in the dark, it was with dread, and I knew that the "fixing up" was a lie.  What I might do is call someone and get an estimate on a thing or two.  I mean hell, since I still have a job. . . .  Perhaps I'll shop for something new to wear.  Etc.

Just now a parade of runners streams by my house.  They are dressed in green.  St. Patrick's Day must be around the corner.  Surely they will finish with a Guinness.  Some of them look like they drink plenty.

Q wrote a funny piece about my trials and tribulations yesterday.  I like his writing best when it is antagonistic and gonzo.  I care more for truths slid from the corner of a mouth than the preacher's truth delivered in heavy blows.  We often see more of the essence of things with a sideways glance than from staring directly at the thing itself.  As I've said before, what matters most is wit.  Having said that, though, I must admit that I can't stomach Dryden, Swift, and Pope.  It is me, not them.  They just don't make me laugh.

I am trying to give you more of what you want in photos.  I shoot with a couple models this week.  I've asked them to bring instruments.  I've decided that a brothel needs good music.  Perhaps it will be more than that.  We will call it "Gowns and Gizmos."  We will try to leave these tattooed girls and their red shoes behind.  Or at least you will.  I will just keep them out of your sight.

But perhaps I'll leave exercising for tomorrow.  Working, too.  A big breakfast of eggs and sausage and a cold beer sounds like the thing after all.  I mean really, there is nobody here to tell me, "No."

*     *     *     *     *     

Some goddamned time, a man's due to stop arguin' with hisself, feelin' he's twice the goddamned fool he knows he is, because he can't be something he tries to be every goddamned day without once getting to dinnertime and not fucking it up. I don't wanna fight it no more. Understand me Charlie? And I don't want you pissing in my ear about it. Can you let me go to hell the way I want to?  (source)