Lovely Evening

A lovely evening. Light snow falling through the street lamps. An interesting and engaging day. The glass show is open and I'm the docent of record because no one else is here who knows more than me about these particular pieces. I have to say, I realized I tend to develop a monolog about a specific show. I docented a board member, and several other people through the show today. Julia asked me to docent the school kids she's bringing in on the 16th. I like doing this. Get some things done, and lunch with Anthony at the pub. He talks about a woman he's met, who is a friend of Seven, the wife in the couple that bought Sara's and Clay's house. We have a good chance to talk because he drives me out to get my mail, his Audi on ice as we approach the bottom of the hill. The weather is so different in town. I go back to the museum, mopping the floor under the glass show, slapping the mop into the pedestals to hear the harmonics where the glass vibrates. Do some other stuff, check a few things off the list, at the end of the day, I'm the only person there. Close up the museum, go to meet Anthony for a stout and an Irish, to pay for the gas he used transporting me. And them he stands me to a very expensive shot of Jameson Gold, which we decide is not as good as the Paddy we enjoy for three dollars a shot. A shot, with a Murphy's back, should last an hour. The Murphy's should last for two shots. Drunk is a relative term. Depends on what you need to do. A birdy, that alliteration. Writing to you is several things at once, fulfills a certain need, something to do, but also engages my thinking process, the part of me that I care the most about. The revealed persona. That's not what I mean, might be the exact opposite of what I mean. Writing is way of exploring that doesn't involve crampons and ice-axes. Fucking done with them, I don't need to suffer for anyone anymore. Anything. There are times I think myself an alliterative genius and other times I consider myself a dufus. And if I don't have any confidence, why would anyone else? Anthony bolts, because the damsel is drowning in the heated pool. Not quite drowning, where the fuck on the shore-front until they're both bleeding. I wanted to say, but I'm not comfortable saying anything, was that any really specific sequence of events might produce a certain event. I'd take your word for it. I was going to say I don't care; as I look at that, I realize it's not what you wanted to say. You, and those kids.