Um. . . What Was I Saying?

Originally Posted Tuesday, September 9, 2014

Frustrated after yesterday's post, I began working on an idea I've had for awhile on how to treat some of the digital photographs I've taken.  I kept working, trying thing after thing, getting closer but not there.  To get closer but not there took a long time.  I got to work just in time to go to lunch with my supervisor who was giving me the stink eye.  I have a couple of ideas to try in the studio with transfers that could take most of a weekend and still not work.  But sooner or later. . . if only I had the time. 

I've not been sleeping again.  Some say it is the approach of the Super Moon.  I tried Xanax and whiskey two nights ago, two sleeping pills and whiskey last night.  I slept neither.  But I feel woozy as hell this morning, that's for sure.  All I need, really, is opium.  Pipe dreams.  Actually, I have the pipe.  Got it in China at an antiques flea market.  It didn't come with opium, unfortunately.  Nothing ever does. 

Every day I seem to hurt a bit more.  It is more difficult to stand, to walk, to twist or turn.  My cat's hips are hurting her, too.  It is very obvious.  I will see if the vet can give her some opium, but I'm sure she will give her something else.  My mother is having a painful time walking as well.  There is a difference between my mother, my cat, and me, though.  The two of them are bored.  I told my mother boredom is a luxury I haven't the money for.  I have offered to give her the cat.  Their boredom anguishes me.  I do not want to be responsible for their entertainment.  I am not an entertaining fellow.  I am barely good company unless you like to watch somebody read or work on pictures or just sit quietly.  I am happiest when things mean something, when I can make them mean something, rather.  Not so the cat.  I won't speak for my mother.  I am terrible company when I must do what somebody else wants to do.  I find that most people don't know what they want to do, or if they do, it is a little step above what the cat desires.  They love to get into groups, large ones often, to get into line, sing karaoke, dance a little disco, do the tarantula. . . whatever.  Sometimes I have to go, and unless there is something for me to document, to write or photograph, I am miserable.  It is worse than being bored.  Sooner or later, I am bound to make a mistake, say the wrong thing, take a social bowel movement, and regret ever being in the company of people I know. 

I got lost somewhere in that last paragraph.  It is surely the accumulation of pills and booze.  I'd better watch myself at work today.  God knows what damage I might do. 

I think there was something I wanted to tell you, but I can't remember it now.  And so it goes.  C'est la vie.  Selah.