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in my quest of avoiding doing anything of real purpose, i failed on one count. instead of removing the camera from the case, or drawing, or lettering... i drove to the nearest town, watching colour slip by. rather than reassembling the cylinder head on the trooper, i hunted for hummus and mango juice. when i could have been clearing out the waist-high weeds where the driveway should be, salvadoran food was what occupied me. riding the bicycle would have been a good idea... but i bought cigarettes instead. bending over backwards and kissing my wife's feet may have been a thoughtful choice... instead i day-dreamt of someone else. should have, could have, would have. my epitaph. when we finally returned home, long about everyone else's cocktail time, i managed to summon enough momentum to change oil in all of the cars. looked into the strange malady that has befallen the saab since it was abandoned, minutes before the first fat drops of unexpected rain preceded the booming of the gods' drum lesson. sat down on the front porch, bristling with petroleum-stained skin, and was made to feel bad about not fixing Miss Jane's daughter's car, eighty miles away... though her boyfriends were accompanying her to her softball game. i opened a beer. tomorrow, i escape to noise. i wonder what i will do, then. |
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