Nothing, Later

Blow it off as merely paranoid, but it was a tick, embedded in a place I couldn't see directly, so I had to use a mirror and attempt a remote extraction. I'm pretty good at this, because I've lived alone for many years. Be nice to have some assistance but that isn't in the cards, do what you can. When I cough the cough of the damned I sound like my father, and he's still alive, at 91, beating the odds; but a shadow, really, not the thing itself. Having a cigaret with Sara after work yesterday, we can smoke in her office after hours, talking about an upcoming folk art show and the difficulties of hanging certain pieces, when Pegi came to the door. Her face was white, she had her cirque clothes over her arm, so I knew she had been in the upstairs bathroom where she changes before she goes over to the studio. She said my name several times and I finally just asked her what the problem was in the bathroom and she said there was a mess on the floor. Putting it mildly. Someone with diarrhea had missed the toilet completely. Part of my job description is that when there is any actual shit, I clean it up. I don't even mind, it's just a job, not nearly as bad as the mess you back when you have your arm two feet up a cow's ass, trying to get an unborn calf turned in the proper position for delivery. Or had kids, for that matter. I'm not new to shit. I was staff today, so I mostly read about Delacroix. When he first saw Gericault's "Raft Of The Medusa" he went running and whooping through the streets. I think it's good to have an actual response to something. I encourage whooping. Saw Ronnie with Bear's daughters, leaving his stand at the farmer's market and he gave me some tomatoes. Soon as I got home I started eating tomato sandwiches, mayo, black pepper, on a very good multi-grain bread that I favor. I managed to do this one-handed, so I could read, turn pages with the other hand, but it required a large bowl to contain the drippage. I love these, sometimes I dump a can of sardines on top. The first sandwich is more or less a test of the tomato at hand, the second, I often add something: pickled peppers, some caramelized onion, capers. Because I know that's it, right? two tomato sandwiches pretty much would be my dinner, and this is all you're going to eat before you start drinking and writing. Straighten out that syntax, you know what I mean. Which raises questions. How could you? I don't know, myself. I poke at it, but I don't know what it is. I know that people who leave overhead cupboard doors open should be shot; but I'll never shoot them. Come on, I don't have a vicious bone in my body.