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It was eighty degrees, today... so sayeth the weather dweeb on the with the Conan hair, and the TV makeup. I never thought to check a thermometer... my skin told me plenty. Primarily, it asked, "so, where have you been?" In short, this collection of hours has been... mercurial. I get plenty of mileage out of "ellipses"... don't I? The D-Land brick wall was up again, last night. Probably, it was for the better. The mood of the crew was decidedly underworked and "pissy," which made my decision to burn as much music as possible and get the hell out especially appropriate. Eighty-four miles, and no more scanning the undulating convergence of highway and mercury vapor lights for telltale flashes of blue. Home and Dry... or at least off the road until getting all of the legalities up-to-date. Dead inspection sticker ... you'd think I was smuggling ivory, or weapons across the border. Never fails... I let some little legal detail lapse, and I feel like an immediate cop magnet. That's behind me, now. I'd never be a good criminal. As a reward for being a brave boy, I allowed myself a drive to the dentist in the little red skate with the top down... and just wanted to keep on going. Not that I was in a particularly foul humor, though maybe a little precognition was trying to foggily materialize. Not this early. The usual picking and prodding passed, relatively painless, surprisingly buffered by engaging conversation. Stopping to take a walk on the property, desperate for more fresh air and the not-so-silent woods, I found out that my mother's dog was yet again under the knife. Poor old gal... up in years and suffering. One thing that tugs at my guts is anything or anyone in pain... especially when they can't comprehend the "why." People, animals: as long as they know someone else gives a damn, it's all OK. Cut to the evening, rain slating on the front porch, wind battering the Aztec calendar mounted next to the door. After I'd earlier caught up with Miss Jane and took her to pick up some groceries, I was about to put the first food of the day in my mouth. Well, maybe it was a Guinness, but it was like bread, anyway. A call from the Little General came in, sevenish, asking to drop by for a while. that would be the first time in over a week that anyone had come to the house, outside of the Jeh0vah's W1tnesses that are invited in when I'm gone. And the Shit Didst Hit The Fan. On cue, I was barraged with raised voice and cabinet slamming. And a tidal wave of complaints that she'd been saving for months. "So, when are you going to decide when we're going on vacation? I'd planned on going down to "Josie's" this weekend... she could use some support (on her leaving husband #2,and the consequent custody). I need someone I can go shopping with." Ten years, and we've gotten no further than this communications fuckup. I try to initiate conversation, am met with halfhearted acknowledgement, if at all... weeks later, shit happens, then it all comes out in a flood. Every gesture either left to dissolve, or ignore. It just deflates me. I have no idea how this can ever be patched, or if I even care to make the effort. And that's a shame. It's cold, now. That brief respite, faded until some other week. No radio, tomorrow... so it'll be cylinder head or chainsaw, and a call to thw dowser about divining water on the hillside. Maybe, another weekend alone. Just like right now. One project is to get the bike trip story back in gear... the slide/film scanner is here. No more projector, though the ambiance was amusing... crisp realism, for a change. If it suits. More computer time. Hot Damn. |
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