Morning

I am posting very late again today.  Blame it on Red.  She keeps me up beyond my bedtime, and when I get home, I am too tired and too jacked up to sleep.  So last night, much too late, I took an over-the-counter P.M. pill which wasn't working quickly enough and needed a Xanax chaser.  "Reckless behavior," you will say, and I might agree.  A bottle of champagne, beers with dinner, a whiskey chaser, more beers at the studio. . . .   And then it is three o'clock and I remember that I don't like staying up late especially with people for whom these are normal hours.  In a little while, I woke with the sun shining brightly in my eyes.  "God," I thought, "the day is ruined.  I will drink coffee and write and then go to breakfast at the dingy diner.  I have a ton of Polaroids at the studio that need to be dealt with and two digital cameras full of images.  Oh!  And hell, I have two new pairs of shoes sitting on the counter that came in the mail yesterday and the maids were here and the house is spic and span.  I will forget about the gym and just go lie in the sun.  And I will blow off all the chores I said I'd do. Rather, I will go out and buy a Vespa."

That is verbatim what I thought.  I think in sentences just like that on mornings like this.  It is too dangerous not to.  The boat has tipped and I must be careful not to let it roll.  I spread my skin out over the freshly laundered sheets feeling the coolness and feeling the river of sand that ran through my veins and collected in my head.  I was pop-eyed, I could tell.  I looked like one of those goldfish or carp, I was certain.  The nice thing about the P.M. medicine was that it had a pain reliever/anti-inflamatory in it, so the normal agonies that plague me were absent.  My back felt swell.  "I will need to drink water," I thought with disgust.  "Lots of water today.  But first I need coffee."  I could smell the eggs cooking at the greasy diner.

That was mere moments ago.  The day is one of the most beautiful in history.  The air is crystal and luminous, the new leaves translucent.  I did not read the news, but I thought to and brought up the page out of habit.  "Young Photographer Has Natural Born Talent," read the headline.  Natural Born Talent. What is that?  S/he was born with an innate understanding of conflict and metaphor?  I didn't bother reading to find out.  There is political turmoil in China and a kid sold his kidney for an iPad and iPhone.  Some unknown football coach crashed his motorcycle with a younger woman on it.  Chavez is going back to Cuba for more treatments.  The Grizzlies snapped the Heat's home winning streak.  I couldn't imagine reading any of that.

The question that I keep thinking to myself is, "How do I do everything at once?"  Really.  There is so much to do.

My mother sent me an email while I was writing this.  "What are we doing for Easter?" she wants to know.  Shit.  Red was coming over to help me organize the studio.  Guess not.  I'll write back to my mother now.

"Oh, just the usual," I will tell her.  "You know. . . Church, hunting for Easter eggs. . . ."