Oy

Jesus, I'm late this morning.  I drank too much last night.  How much?  Enough to send out texts and emails that maybe I wish I hadn't.  Maybe.  Nothing horrid.  Just a reminder not to send anything when drunk.

Then I took a Xanax.

Slow going this morning.

This is a photo of my father and I and some fake  flamingos.  This must be our home on the banks of the Little Miami River in Ohio, though it might be Florida.  How old am I there?  This may be a photo from one of our trips around the world.

At least around the U.S.  Pre interstate.  My father was a romantic and wanted to travel after serving in the Navy in WWII.  And so, often enough, he would quit his job and pack up the family in the Chevy towing a one-wheeled trailer that held all our army surplus camping gear--a big canvas tent, heavy cotton sleeping bags, a Coleman stove and a Coleman lantern.

The thing is, I don't think my father would have been wearing that outfit on the road.  He DID have a real pith helmet that he wore (link).  Where is that thing?  I kept it for many years.

I probably inherited my itchy feet from him.

And that is why I sent this out to everyone I knew last night (and probably some I didn't).

That, and this.

This was the life I was supposed to be living in retirement, I said.  Rather. . . whatever.

My blood feels toxic this morning.  Water may be my tonic.  I wish I liked it.  Some exercise and a long walk.  I'll force down a glass or two, but you know I'll need a little wine with lunch and a nap.

Maybe I'd be better out there, lonely on the highway and all that.  As I noted last night, "all there is to do in life is to drink and write and fuck and eat and feel things deeply."

Oy.