Rigging

There's always trouble with burgee halliards. Rigging is a pain in the ass. No matter how carefully you lay out the ropes a simple change in direction alters everything. Beating against the wind requires constant attention. I spend half my time cleaning up the last mess. If you add it up, no one gets anything done, mostly we run in place. Any advantage is mostly a small gain in the direction we can't sustain. A no-win situation. I wonder why I do this. There's Holly and that great tattoo, Erica, and the greatest body ever. Listen. I don't care what you think, it's not worth it. Been there and done that, I'm mostly immune to the various physical aspects, but the heat was killing me. D had found an old air-conditioner, felt, I'm not sure what, that I needed cooling, something, and he was correct, I did, need. An older, heavy unit, needed a support bracket. He followed me out to the house, parked at the bottom of the driveway, and rode up with me. He assembled the bracket, an incredibly complex metal thing with an outrageous number of parts, while I cleared of the dictionary table (11 dictionaries, just in the center area where we needed access to the window, 3 unabridged, 2 of Classical Mythology, 1 of Sinhalese, Anglo-Saxon, Latin, Greek, one of slang, and the great Lopez edited "Home Ground") and in just a couple of hours we had the thing installed. I'm ambivalent about air-conditioning because it cuts you off from the natural world. We had a window unit, in Missip, when Marilyn was pregnant with Samara; and my rented apartment, when I was at FSU, must have had central air. Working outside, most of the time, I couldn't stand the temperature shock of artificial cooling. Now, though I might argue I got the damned thing for my computer. I have to say, running it for a couple of hours last night, and then, again today, just for a couple of hours, it's awfully nice to not be sweating. I hate the noise, and miss the sounds outside my windows, but goddamn July was tough, weather-wise. Thought about sound, off and on, all day. I'll only use this unit on days over 90 degrees (average about 25 here) and then only for a couple of hours, because the house is tight, and I can hold the coolth. A trade-off, another compromise. My computer is very happy, at 78 degrees, but I play the Cello Suites to mask the sound. This is how you create the soundscape to fill-in for the natural sounds you no longer hear. I didn't do anything today, reorganized the dictionary table and thought about sound, read some fiction. Fixed a great sausage and egg brunch. Very Scottish. You could almost hear bagpipes. It's true, we all live within cork walls, inventing persona. I can go to the stump of any tree I've cut, and remember everything. Fuck you and the horse you rode in on. I just try to keep the floor clean, but I heard something that put me on my guard. A slight. You know what I mean. Power off, but I'd cooled the house somewhat, and SAVED, so it wasn't a total loss. Not a loss at all, actually, sleep or slept well and wake or woke up refreshed, what more can you ask? An elaborate brunch, before the temps rise, a cheese omelet with scallions, a perfect sliced tomato, sour-dough toast with a jalapeno/blackberry jam. Vacuum some corners and consider some things. Time well-spent if you're as scatterbrained as I am. Entering into a busy period, a major benefit auction, deinstalling "Cream Of The Crop", and reinstalling all three galleries. D's back on his MFA track, middle of the month, and we have the Circus Show to take apart at a distant site, ship back to the owners. I need to bring my calendar/notebook back up to date, I'm not good at bookkeeping or time-factoring. I remind people to remind me. Sure as shit, I'll forget whatever it is. I'm curious why I'm considered a central character in anything. I generally fail, I'm not attractive, and I don't remember things. In my defense, I'm usually in the kitchen, frying Hush Puppies, and can't hear clearly. The Hush Puppies were really good. Fucking devices. If you chop fine an onion, and blend it into the batter, you'll be a happy camper. Just saying. I had to go into the other room to settle a dispute. They were arguing about dear sweet Emily, and I had an opinion, maybe I was too loud, I'll never know. The Cello Suites, until Casals played one through, were considered exercises, six time six, 36 samples of what the instrument might do. There's a transcription for lute, in Bach's own hand, that I'd like to hear.