Unavoidable

I'm off the wagon again.  I had a light beer before dinner last night and it went straight to my head.  Oo-la--la.  That old, familiar feeling.  Really?  Yup.  It is true.  It was like being a teenager all over again.  

But I felt like I'd put on a pound or two.  Ho!

Tonight will be tacos and real beer.  Who knows what will happen?  

The first picture was taken with my medium format Fuji.  The second was taken with my phone.  I think there is a difference, but it is not so great, really.  It is but it isn't.  Phone cameras are good enough for most things.  

I'm using up all my silly images today in order to force myself out to make more.  More silly images.  

I am like Harrison in this, in part.  I love the marketplaces and cafes, but I am media y media on the museums.  It is a 50/50 pull for me.  

The clouds have returned. It is not good for my psyche. Clouds for days. My life has become a dull routine of caretaking, cooking, cleaning, picking up.  Such is my fate.  No matter.  Trump is determined to make life for the non-wealthy a grind and a horror show.  "They" want the working class to work and watch commercial t.v. 

"Hey, hey. . . hey. . . did you hear about the big halftime show they are going to have at the Super Bowl?!?!?"

Of course the morons have TikTok scrolling to keep them distracted.  I will admit that I am tickled sometimes, but I have books.  So many books.  

And shuffleboard.  I've found a shuffleboard court!  Tennessee owns some condos he rents out on a big lake here in town.  When I said I was getting into shuffleboard shape, he reminded me.  Oh, they are glorious courts high above and overlooking the big lake.  While I doubt that he will ever really get a happy hour group together there, I was overwhelmed with imagining cocktails and shuffleboard glancing past the pool below at sunset, the golden pink light reflecting in the distance, something cooking on the bbq grills and the wafting of smoke as the fat begins to drip.  I can see it all so clearly.  

But you know how such things go.  Oh, were they my condos, though.  Trumpworld could go to hell.  But I need money to escape it now.  My kingdom for some shuffleboard!

Hell. . . for a studio, or even just a printer.  Now I am worried about the price of avocados and those onetime cheap staples, milk and eggs.  What's a schlub to do now?  

My Trumper friends have already thrown their hands up into the air and said, "I'm not a fan of Trump," while blaming Biden for the Trump presidency.  

"Oh, sure. . . none of you assholes were for Trump.  That's why he got nominated by you republicans.  You opposed him all the way."

Fucking asshole cowards, I say.  But the ones with money care little.  The price of avocados will have no effect on them, and they like to see the little people work and suffer.  What good is having money if everybody's happy?  

That's all I've got, in the dialect of my hillbilly tribe.  I'm worn out but doing fine.  

We all wait with abated breath to see if the groundhog sees his shadow.