Plan B

I post this picture to remind myself what happy fun looks like.  At least this is how it begins.  My last two days, though, have driven all memory of that out of me.  Brutal beatings for an extended period will change the way you think.  

O.K.  I don't really know what a brutal beating is like, and I don't want to.  I'm a writer (I tell myself).  I am being metaphorical.  But I haven't desired at all most of the things that have occurred in these past hours and am now worn out with it.  It is Saturday. There is a weekend for watching the hurricanes.  And maybe going to the grocery store and perhaps being able to eat decently.  And maybe going for a walk.  And maybe even going to the gym.  These are all things I've not done for a week.

I had such plans after coming back from California.  All I have now are the incoming bills from that trip to pay.

So last night after work, I met with a friend at one of my favorite bars in town.  It once was something out of a beautiful movie set, but the idiots who run the place had a mural of some hideous creatures painted on one wall in turquoise and green and red so that it now looks like a Tony Bahama shirt.  Still, it is pleasant to sit there if you don't face that wall but rather look out over the lushness of the landscaped lawn that runs far enough to make you feel partially isolated as in some old colonial club.  Not quite, since they can't make a decent drink there as the place is staffed by nine year olds who dropped out of junior college to be hipsters and djs. . . yes, you have to squint and pretend a lot, but still I like to go there and have a lukewarm beer or a glass of grocery store wine from time to time.

We ordered and drank and spoke to the couple at the table next to us, and then we ordered again and again until it was dark and the couple was standing to leave.  I asked my friend if he was hungry, and he said yes, and you can guess where I suggested we go to eat.

And after dinner and several big sakes, we went to my studio where I've had two pictures I printed for his birthday present over a month ago.  He had spoken to me of his desire to own them when he saw them on the site, so I presented them to him along with the only thing I had to drink--vodka. As we drank, we looked through the piles and piles of big prints I have stacked there.  Only he and Q have seen the prints and both have encouraged me with compliments though one never knows how to take compliments, really, as one can never know truly the depth of the truth of them.  So we poured another drink and looked a while longer.

This morning when I woke, I thought I should quit drinking.  It hurts, sometimes.  I think my friend will be feeling it, too.

So let me recap. Terrible beatings followed by self-medication for pain.  I think I'm going to need a plan B in the near future.

But the terrible beatings will commence in earnest soon.  The presidential election is in the offing and the world will change drastically if things go the way some desire.  I fear people who want to get rid of government in one sentence and then wanting to punish you severely for wrongdoing at every turn.  You can't win an election, though, running as a libertine, I fear.  Hard times.