Hanging Art

By the end of yesterday, with various interruptions, I'd only hung a few pieces, done the math for a few more. Daunting task today. But when framed sizes are uniform there is a set of numbers. Once you have these numbers, you can really fly. I roll out a board-room chair, to sit on while I do the math, but then I try and have everything at hand for D so it is a smooth operation. We were as good as it gets today. One piece is a quarter-inch too high, with that exception, the show is visually perfect. We set up three additional panels (scary units) and hang all 45 pieces. Maybe we were actually hanging for 6 hours, 6 times sixty divided by 45, we hang an image every 8 minutes. I'm so wasted at the end of the day I can't speak. We're actually done at three o'clock, which means the number is closer to 6 minutes. I waste time as a matter of course, smoke with anyone willing, out on the loading dock. I don't involve myself in politics, fucking waste of time, I do vote, and keep track of what's going on, but no longer carry a sign and might get myself shot with a rubber bullet. I could dine on the Jersey Shore, but I'd have to do the cooking. Wherever I go, I always do the cooking. Rain turning to snow. I need to turn inward, but I'm not sure what's there. I'm depleted, a shadow of my former self, I walk funny and I'm tired. Granted, we did the impossible today, but it nearly killed me. In the future I can only do the impossible every other week, it takes too much out of you. I can't sleep, there's too much to do, I wake in a sweat about the labels. The real problem with hanging a show in a day is that it would come to be expected. 45 pieces in a day? Unbelievable. Couldn't really be done. But they did it, as a matter of course. I'm tired and my feet hurt. Fucking tile floor. D and I work so well together, it's a mystery. Nearly perfect, and almost effortlessly. I throw the numbers around, a pattern emerges. I remind him what the numbers are because his short term memory is shot. I only remember certain numbers because there is a pattern. I'm a walking talking bean pole.