My sickness may have been a simple performance anxiety. I am that way. After work yesterday I went out with a group of coworkers who were celebrating something. We sat outside on a cold and rainy night. The staff brought Coleman heaters and put them on top of the shaky tables, a real good idea with a bunch of drunks, but no tragedies took place. All in all it was a successful day. Earlier in the day, I left for lunch and went to get my tags renewed at a tax collector's office that came highly recommended. And boy oh boy was it nice. I was in and out in five minutes, something, I think, of a miracle. Then I sat inside the largest Chic-fil-A I have ever seen and ate a solitary meal before going back to work. I was out of my zip code. It was fun. All this coming after presentation I had made earlier in the day that I felt went swimingly. Almost legendary. There was all of that and me worn out with something inexplicable, then the sitting with good people and drinking pint after pint of some small brewery's Guinness style beer that was very, very tasty, then finishing up with a scotch. It was not late, so I drove to Fresh Market and got some ribs and went home to eat them and watch some more "Banshee" and then fell into bed happy and satisfied that things were as they should be.
I woke up at eight o'clock because the morning light never came. It is a glorious feeling to sleep so long and soundly. Up to make the coffee and. . . oh, shit! I'd forgotten to feed the cat the night before. I felt terrible, but when I put the fresh food in her bowl, she ate normally and not so much, so I gave her more love than usual and apologized profusely. And so the coffee and the news and the decision that I have had enough of work for the week. I shall stay home this cool, dark, and damp Friday and catch up on things that should have been done long ago. It feels sooooo good. The heater blows and the cat purrs and air hangs dim and gloomy. It is delicious.
I wish that Aunt Thelma were coming around. We could play Boggle and she could tell me stories in her wonderful way of telling and not telling at the same time. The stories emerge from someplace far away, she speaking something like a medium in a seance. And then, when the story has been told, she'll look at you and smile. Often the tales end up with everyone in the room clapping.
It is one of those kinds of days.
That's a fantastic photo. You've made me fall in love with her. Enough so that yesterday -- in prep for the estate sale I was doing -- where Pearl S. once lived -- a real estate broker after her divorce (probably one the first or second in the neighborhood - imagine!) and a woman who loved art -- loved to paint (though not quite good -- there were paintings she had done hung all over the house and her daughter took the "best" ones and left me with with -- well never mind to sell) but she had lovely old frames -- gorgeous frames stacked in the garage and basement along with some good-looking vintage easels oh I'm off target here....I could tell you all about her tastes but this is supposed to be about you. ;)
ReplyDeleteI found a wonderful box of 1940's underthings. I think you might be able to use them (you know not that you wear women's underthings of course but use them you know in you photos) maybe -- delicious long slips and bras and those things that held up garters -- high waisted corset type things .I forgot to put away some old gloves for you there were some, I tried a few pair on... too bad women don't wear long gloves anymore). They aren't soiled these items at all! Just so you know. They are pristine really but of course a lady had plenty of those delicates in their trousseau so many they might not even ever get to use all of them and someday someone will find all these lady like things and let their imagination run wild with thoughts of "I kind of think I might know what kind of woman Pearl...." I've got to get this shit in the mail, I have a pile of "Cafe Selavy found at estate sale shit" -- there is a pile for someone else too. And piles for Jesse, for Sam, for ...my job is dangerous.
Sorry. Home alone and stoned.
Ulgh I think I just referred to your blog as "a place." sort of. I apologize for that too. Thats hideous. And embarrassing -- really but I'm stoned and writing so who cares? This pot is unbelievable. thick and like licorice almost on the smell/inhale. Diesel something... we've been getting some interesting flavors up here. Interesting to see how the dispensaries and medical mari are really changing the end product.
Okies. I love the photo.
Thanks for the props. Sounds like you were having more fun.
ReplyDeleteAnd I'm super excited to see the undies!