Dry

I've rather quit drinking for awhile.  "Rather," I say, because last night just before bed, I had a drink.  I'd been drinking organic chai tea and the spices and whole milk had left a taste in my mouth that needed to be "washed out."  One drink before bed.  Otherwise it has been bubbly water and tea.  It was not difficult to quit.  I didn't get the shakes or the DTs.  I just know it is time, that my body needs to "break even."  Your body, if you listen, will tell you when you can do a thing and when you can't. 

So now I am quite a bore. 

I shot with a young model on Saturday.  New skin.  There is no substitute for that.  You can deny youth's charms, can extol the qualities of age and experience. . . go ahead, I am with you.  No I'm not.  I can agree to the latter, but not to the former.  There is something ever so appealing about low mileage.  Everybody loves a puppy. 

Easter.  What can I say.  The bunny did not come to my house.  Or perhaps she snuck out early in the morning.  I had another shoot early, anyway, with a young girl who works at Subway, then I met my buddy for brunch.  Afterwards, I came home and took a nap before going to my mother's house for dinner--not quite an Easter feast, but in line with her pretty strict diet.  It's O.K with me. 

Then I came home to watch the season premiere of Mad Men.  Only trouble was that the cable was out.  I had no internet, no television.  And so I worked on pictures and drank tea and then, eventually, after the lone scotch. . . I went to bed. 

I do not feel like going to the factory today, and I feel I have the choice.  I am listening to Flamenco Sketches by Miles Davis and feeling more Manhattanite than factory worker.  I have many practical things to do, though, around the house including filing for a tax extension.  Must be done. 

Plus. . . I need to load up on sparkling water.