Yesterday, with the RME freshly landed, the real rains came back, and I slept too much in the half-lighted fog of afternoon. Then I had a real nice visit and made tacos for the Visitor.
Thus, today I slept only a little in the wee hours, got up at the ideal time, around four, and wrote a long post, but it wasn’t the kind for publication. This one will have to be instead.
There are three weeks before I get seriously paid again, yet the system requirements for August are already met.
There are almost two weeks before the next trip, and it’s a big fat doozy, but necessary in some way that is also a meeting of system requirements. Just like renewing my car tags. Just like applying for Medicare in the anointed window, or else; the endless soft parades of distraction.
In weeks after, people will want to be celebrating my alleged birth, but not wanting to be around each other while they do, which is always complicated. I have fantasies about escaping it down in those freshly undrowned and walkable Glen Canyons, without telling anyone where I’m going.
But they’re only fantasies, burning like cigarettes down into ash in the tray.
I’ll be a good boy, instead of putting Alex first, and juggle the radioactive fallout like a real pro.
‘Just watch me’.
At Halloween I will attend no drag shows, because in a town this small, there just aren’t any. Only ro-de-ooos.
There will doubtless be expectations and obligations at Thanksgiving time, but they won’t be too onerous, because I will refuse to let them be, Rawr.
Then shall come the quiet of solstice.
It will not be frozen.
I shall not be frozen.
Some people try to pick up girls and get called an asshole.
This never happened to … Pablo Picasso.
He was only five foot three but girls could not resist his stare.
Subsequently, Pablo Picasso was never called an asshole.
Not like you.
