Getting Ready

I just wrote a long piece about sex being the one place where we are all fantasy criminals, but I deleted it.  I sounded like a right wing nut.  Dildos and Japanese sex dolls. . . you get the idea.  But it is not the time for that kind of talk.  It is a time of Fear and Loathing, and as the good Doctor said, "I'm not like the others.  I'm your friend." 

I tried to pack for my L.A. trip yesterday.  I am the worst packer in the world.  It begins with making decisions.  That is where I am weakest.  I think of too many possibilities, too many scenarios.  It is why I quit doing my own lawn.  I would stand and look at the yard and think about all the things I could or should or would do.  My man Henry just does the lawn.  I need him to pack for me, too. 

But I've decided to be minimal.  One pair of jeans, two pairs of shorts, six plain t-shirts, two cotton poplin button ups, enough underwear and socks for a week, a pair of walking shoes and flip-flops.  Done.  I packed a camera bag and put almost all of them in it, but I am thinking of taking only one camera and five lenses, all of which will fit into a small shoulder bag.  One charger.  That is harder, though, than going without clothing.  I still am not sure. 

I looked at the weather for Palm Springs.  The day I get there the high will be 107.  Jesus.  That's pretty hot.  I guess I might pack a hat, too. 

I haven't been out of town for about a year and a half, and that was for a workshop.  It has been a long time since I have gone somewhere simply to wander and see.  I hope I still have it in me.  I am beginning to think that it is not only the knees and hips that time damages. 

I woke up very late this morning, too late for anything.  Now I must rush to get out the door.  Everything is waiting. 

Oh--the picture.  I took this in the Miami arts district last time I was there.  It was illustration for the writing I deleted.  Feel free to fill in the blanks.