Housebound Paranoia

Bike Week.  Spring Break.  I am released from the factory job for a few days, too.  I imagine running amuck with dangerous lawyers on new Harleys and Girls Gone Wild.  But I can't seem to leave the house. What fun is there in that, anyway.  Oh, there is coleslaw wrestling at the Dog Patch, a biker dive that is invaded once a year for Bike Week.  And there can be real fun when lawyers meet real deal psychopaths.  I have an attorney friend who got his front teeth knocked out at that very bar.

"Did you sue 'em?" I asked.  He didn't even chuckle at that.

I should have been gone by now.  But as I've been chronicling here from time to time, I am gripped by The Fear.  Last night I took a sleeping pill, and even that had no effect.  When that deadly combo of beer and wine and whiskey and sleeping pills can't make you comfortably numb. . . it may be time to call in the heavier artillery.

Or I should simply get out of the house, out of my zip code. . . just get gone.

But what about the cat?  It will cost money.  The weather might be lousy.

Etc.

I've read about the malady before.  There is only one cure, of course.

I was surprised today to read on a much bigger photographer's blog a copy of my own in other words.  But it was the same.  I have begun to see other photographers copying my last project as well.  I would be more flattered if they weren't bigger than I.  What the hell?

Finally, just because you're paranoid doesn't mean that you aren't right.  The girl with whom I watched "Manhattan" a while ago, the girl of dubious age, dropped by the site to let me know.  I must be careful, so careful about what I write.  I was thinking of chronicling some of that crazy time here soon.  If you are reading. . . is it O.K.?  It's all made up anyway.  And I won't tell anyone who you are now (exactly).

Although it would be fun to show a photo or two.