(Un)Encumber

Originally Posted Friday, February 23, 2013

The promise of a weekend looms ahead of me.  It is what I want.  It is what I need.  It looks like a vacation to a long dreamed of destination, a place for the entire family, something from the '60s where adults listen to a transistor radio while playing cards at a table full of corn chips and chip dip and cans of beer and cocktails, kids eating handfuls of peanut M&Ms and drinking sodas and playing on the beach or in the hotel pool with dinner in the offing at someplace like a Morrison's Cafeteria.  That kind of looking forward to, that kind of weekend. 

Too much to expect, though, right? 

Then at least some tasty meals and some hefty Belgian beers (Nadja), and maybe a movie, too. 

I may have a shoot tonight.  I don't know.  A week ago, I heard from the girl with the Betty Davis eyes. . We set the date, but I haven't heard from her since.  And really. . . I don't care one way or the other.  I will try to work on some shrine boxes and make some toner transfers and maybe even try out some new film with the Aero Ektar Liberator camera and the big old 8x10.  Some if not all of that anyway.  And sitting around the studio doing nothing more than maybe having a beer with the other fellows there or maybe I'll invite over a friend.  I just want to relax and maybe--dare I say it--laugh.  I will, though.  I will laugh. 

I've had a bunch of offers from people lately who want to buy my old Jeep.  I think I will sell it.  I keep saying I will fix it up, but I never do, not in any real way, and even then it will only fall apart eventually.  I shall give up that part of myself when I was a hero with a hero's ride.  It is really uncomfortable anyway.  The Jeep, I mean, though being a hero has its own disadvantages, too. 

Unencumbered.  That is what I will try to become.  Get rid of "things."  Clean the closet, the cabinets, the science experiment of a refrigerator, and every surface horizontal enough to become covered in minutiae. 

Check with me about this on Monday.  It will be a different story.  But for now. . . .