Going Down

(photo by Prodigal Girl)

O.K.  You can't tell if she looks like Nic Kidman or not in this picture, but that is part of the inherently irritating charm of this blog, isn't it?  Still, you trust me, right?  Especially that this is Hawaii.  She was working there.  You can tell.  This is not what I look like on a job at all, but that is neither there nor here.  This is her job and her life.

Oi.

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Up this morning at 4:30, mind working over everything that I need to do, everything left undone.  Everything left undone--that is a somber idea, a hell of a line.  I have fallen into routines, patterns of behavior that do not favor my continued existence in the manner I've grown accustomed.  They are quite destructive, and I wonder about the root cause.  I am wondering about it this morning as I wait for the sun.  A solitary man.  A dark house.  A black sky.  Bills piled up on the floor below the mail slot, many weeks of them.  Estimates for work to be done to which I have not responded.  Desperate things all about.

There is surely worse to come for I will not address them today.  When it is light, I will go out for a run.  I will shower and eat and scan some Polaroids that have been sitting on the table for almost two weeks.  If there is time before I rush into work so terribly late, I will cook up a photo or two.  Tonight, I will begin reading "The Complete Fiction of W. M. Spackman" recommended to me by a friend as some of the best writing of the 20th century.  But what I should be doing is looking for a support group of some sort.  Or a caretaker.  Somewhere along the line, I abandoned the day-to-day chores of the practical, mundane life.  And we know where that lands us, right?  Not so good.