Gout's Borderline

A fat pasha left alone--all I've done is give myself gout.  I have, however, devoured the beer and wine and whiskey, the thai chicken and fresh tamales, the humus and olives and fresh French bread, the chocolates and cheeses and date cakes and ice creams, and I have refused to answer the phone.  I have slept late and slept often, and I suppose all of that was good.  I have not, however, bought myself expensive new clothes.  I tried, but I felt too lazy and fat to climb in and out of pants and shoes and shirts under the unforgiving lights.  Besides, I am in the wrong town for buying clothing.  There is not much and what there is is very conservative.  I cannot find the beautiful silks and fine linen here.  Perhaps I could find a tailor.

It is Sunday and I think that after eating fat, I must eat lean.  Whole grains and vegetables today.  I know I promised an entire weekend of decadence, but I think that it might kill me to continue.

There are State Fairs just now, the last of them.  I saw the article in the N.Y. Times today.  Minnesota is left, and then Texas.  I think about going with my camera to chronicle this.  St. Paul and Dallas.  I wonder if I could get a press pass from some small paper in the area?  Probably not.  It would make things much easier, I imagine.

Sleeping late sure shortens the day.  I feel it almost gone now, sitting at this table in full sunlight.  I must do something, I tell myself, but then the horror comes back--there is just too much to be done.  Maybe I'll allow myself a final day after all.  There is nothing I want to do.  Nothing.

Except this.