Yesterday. . . I don't know. . . maybe I'm just worn out. I didn't get up for the Christmas Parade on the Boulevard. Then I didn't get out for the aftermath. I sat, drank coffee, cooked, ate. I went through old photos and realized that I used to take pictures all the time of things. I was in a domestic relationship for much of that time and had built-in subjects, and I travelled to the sort of places I know longer can go, places made for kids, family restaurants, etc. I experimented more, too, with post-processing. I was bolder and less afraid to look silly, I guess. The photos were very interesting to me.
So I sat longer. The mother of the model above asked me for a two year old portrait of her printed big. She wants to give it to her husband for Christmas. I had to go back and look for the file, and then I didn't like the way I'd processed it, and so I started from scratch and built it again. And again.
The day wore away.
I went to the gym to test my new knee. Poco y poco. Uphill walking, stationary bike, elliptical machine, each for ten minutes. Stretching. Everything felt O.K.
Afterwards, off to the store to buy an-over-the-stove built-in microwave.
When that was finished, I felt I'd done something. It was three.
More going through old files, sitting. At five, I went to the studio. I decided to have a little vodka from the big bottle sitting on the fridge. I talked to the artist behind me, then to another, a couple, really, that I rarely see. Another vodka.
It was dark. I decided to have a drink at my favorite bar. It was wonderful in there, close, dark wood, shelves stocked with all the best and rarest liquors. I ordered a Floridita and some shrimp tacos. The first Floridita was beautifully done. I watched the barman mix it with all the old time bar tools, finishing it with an implement to take the peel off an orange so easily, then watched him twist it, the mist falling over the top of the drink. The place is a visual paradise. The cocktails are addicting.
The couple sitting next to me were trying to decide about some items on the menu. They asked about the beet salad. I told them I had had it and that it was very, very good. We talked about the rest of the food and drinks. The man was my own age exactly I found out. His date. . . who knows. She'd had a lot of work. She was definitely Jewish and very friendly, maybe too much so for her date's pleasure. They were sitting at the corner of the bar in a manner that she was beside me and he on the other side, so when she slid her hand into my lap and worked down the zipper. . . . I jest. But it was almost that bad. He, it turned out, was an olympic swimming coach whose camps were sponsored by Nike. I told him I just missed winning a bronze in the backstroke in 70s. He looked at me with a start of surprise. Yes, I said, I am a great athlete and if I had taken up swimming, I surely would have gotten close to being a medalist. This delighted the worked up Jewess who squirmed with pleasure. By the end of my forth cocktail (on top of the vodka at the studio), I was a real man again, goddamnit. But it was getting late, I thought, so I pulled up my zipper and told them I hoped I would see them again sometime. Thankfully, I had less than a half mile to drive home.
But when I got home, I found it wasn't late at all. Nope. There were hours before bedtime. And so I poured a scotch. In a bit, there was a knock on the door. It was the tenant's mother who was bringing me the overdue rent check. She was visiting from the north and I hadn't seen her for a long while, so we chatted. I realized then that I was drunk and that it might be a bit obvious. And then she was gone.
Etc.
I didn't wake this morning to sunlight streaming through the shutters. There was no sun. It was eight and the room was still dark. I felt like shit, my mouth dry, my head. . . . I haven't drunk much of anything this month. I felt like an amateur.
Drinking is bad, and I won't do it any more, not the kind of drinking I used to do. Nope. I promise. But damn it, cocktails in your own favorite bar with barmen and dark wood and beautiful bottles full of magical liquids. . . they can't be totally resisted.
I realize how much leash I allow myself. It is very, very long. I need a caretaker to give it a tug from time to time, maybe even reel it in.
But the knee feels good and the sun is beginning to break through the clouds, and there is a healthier lifestyle to be had. I will go forth now and gather that to me. You will see. It will all be fine.
No comments:
Post a Comment