Tired, Sick, and Blue

I feel I should write tonight thinking that there will be little time in the morning.  And I should write now before I've drunk too much.  I had sushi tonight and drank sake, then came home and have had a few whiskeys to kill the worms.  One more will be too much for this.  All the letters are still focussed on the computer screen.  And, I think, I've killed any potential parasites that might have had a fighting chance.

So.  I think I must have had something in mind.

Wait.  Wait.  I remember.  I had TWO quotes to share.  I rewatched the Woody Allen "American Masters" piece last night.  For a bit.  No, no.  I watched the part I missed.  I remember now.  I watched what I had missed and fell asleep.  It was nine.  I was exhausted.  I had gone to the gym earlier, but sat in the parking lot and decided not to to after all.  And so I went to Whole Foods and bought Mahi-Mahi to cook for dinner.  And Brussels sprouts.  And salad.  I remember now, yes--I was scared.  My neck had gotten sore sometime in the day, and it had gotten so bad I could not turn my head.  I thought I had contracted some form of meningitis.  It was the only REAL explanation for what was happening to me.  Of course, I had to medicate.  All I had was the whiskey.

But it is all coming back to me now.  Yes.  I was terrified.  Still,  I cooked.  I was blind, but I cooked.  I gave a big chunk of the expensive fish to Pus 'n Boots and chopped garlic and made a salad while the sprouts and the Jasmine rice cooked.  I had a chilled Pinot Grigio and drank as I cooked thinking that I would be eaten up with fever by midnight and hospitalized by morning.  Blind with pain, I would prepare my last meal.

I was happy, I think, because though I was dying, I had no remorse.  That's right.  Nothing.  I'd lived with a big heart and cared for others.  I regretted, of course, that I would not see my genius to fruition, but there was nothing to be done.  I had not squandered my youth, no.  I had simply been unprepared for it.  It had taken years of study and long, hard hours of living and discovery to prepare me for the work I was yet to do.  I thought of all the times I had seen Woody Allen in New York and started the show.

And I heard this:

We all know the same truths, and our lives consist of how we choose to distort them.

I thought of a quote from Bukowski earlier in the day.

You lose what individualism you have, if you have enough of course, you retain some of it, but most dont have enough, so they become watchers of game shows, y’know, things like that. Then you work the 8 hour job with almost a feeling of goodness, like you’re doing something, and you get married, like marriage is a victory and you have children like having children is a victory, but most things people do are a total grind, marriage, birth, children, it’s something they HAVE to do because they have nothing else to do. There is no glory in it, no esteem, no fire, their lives are flat and the earth is full of them. Sorry, but thats the way I see it. I could not accept the snail’s pace 8-5, Johnnie Carson, merry christmas, happy new year, to me it’s the sickest of all sick things.

Opposites, those two.  But similar.  And I thought to rename myself Woody Bukowski.

And then I fell dead asleep.

When I woke in the morning, the pain in my neck was gone.  I had not fallen into a fever, and it seemed that whatever it was that had attacked me the night before had left.  Life begins again.  Of course, there was the burden of the proof of genius still before me.

I've had two more drinks, so my fingers are getting heavy and I am missing keys.  It is time to go.  But let me say before I do to all of you I owe an email--I am sorry.  I hate people who do not keep up their end of a conversation, but believe me, I am tired, sick, and blue.  It's not you.  It's me.  I hope you understand.