Go, See, Tell

Writing is much about where you went, what you saw, and what you thought about it all.  

"He stood on the high bank of the muddy river listening to the swirling water he could not see as the quarter moon climbed higher in the sky, and he thought. . . ."

Famous quote.  I just made it up. . . but it will be.  

O.K.  See what I mean, though?  It's all about sitting in a cafe drinking a tea, coffee, or brandy and watching the fly struggling in the spider's web and finding a question or drawing a conclusion from what you have just witnessed.  Describe and delight.  

Whatever.  I haven't been anywhere nor seen anything lately.  I haven't a thought in my head.  Not any that I can control, anyway.  Lately, I feel I am victim of my own memories of the life I've lived.  Many that I don't wish ever to remember have been coming back to me as a flood.  I don't want to think them, but I can't stop them, and I imagine, "This is where the concept of hell must have begun."  

My advice?  Don't let yourself spend much time brooding.  Better yet, always do what's right.  Never do anything wrong.  Your memories may be bland, but they will likely be undisturbing.  You can grow old without a wrinkle in your pretty little face.  You won't even need Photoshop.  

I have two big dilemmas now that have nothing to do with that.  Yesterday, for the first time, I went on Facebook Marketplace.  Holy smokes--it is so much better than Craig's List.  I wanted to see if I could find a large format printer for a good price.  I found one that is dubious.  It is the larger 44" version of my 24" Epson printer which has died.  I like the printer, but it is very, very old for a printer.  However--$500. What?  The description says it has some clogging in a couple of the color channels but is still printing well.  That is a problem. . . that maybe I could solve.  Maybe.  For $500, though. . . I might take a chance.  The rub is that it is in a city on the coast some hour and a half away and it won't fit in my Xterra, I think.  I'll have to measure and see. 

But while I was on the site, just for fun, I searched for Vespas.  

I found one that is a bit newer but exactly like my old one--even the color.  What--$1,700!  And it is only a few miles away.  I was excited, but the more I thought about it, the more fearful I became.  Would it be tempting the Fates?  There is not much protection from collision is there?  The thing brings back both good and bad memories.  Would I have the nerve to ride it again?

Here's a photo of my old one I just found.  Huh.  

I was telling my mother about it last night explaining where I might and might not ride it.  I told her I would eschew the major highways unlike before.  This was during the first few minutes of my visit.  Later on, I mentioned it again.  

"You're thinking about getting another Vespa?"

"I just spent fifteen minutes telling you all about it.  What?"

"I thought you were talking about getting a new car."

"Why would I not drive a new car on the highway?

Then I was not so nice, and it makes me angry with myself.  I told her she couldn't just do a stupid grin and nod her head when she can't hear what is being said.  But that is what she does.  It is getting harder and harder to have a conversation with her now.  She needs hearing aids, but she is refusing.  I am frustrated, not by her refusal, but my inability to do anything about anything at all.  And the anger wells up inside me.  I probably need some counseling.  I mean. . . in this case, it might be a good idea.  Just behavioral stuff.  How not to react badly, etc.  

I probably won't buy either the printer or the scooter.  That is the easy thing to do, and I have been choosing the path of least resistance of late.  My bank account is steadily shrinking despite the reports that we are in an improving economy.  Somehow, I need to make some money.  

I don't think I can make a living as an artist and stripping is now out of the question.  All that is left is becoming a Walmart Greeter, but I am not sure they have those anymore.  Maybe I should start posting my blog on Substack.  Hell, it might really take off there.  I could probably make enough to cover my new checking account fee at the bank.  

Well, I'm, out of good ideas.  I'll need to think on all of this much, much more.  Until then. . . .

Let's try an old Jimmy Buffet tune.  What?  Yea.  You won't recognize it, though.