The Grid

By the time the power was restored, it was late, and I'd been reading in an awkward position for so long I had a neck ache. Occupational hazard. I'm sleeping on the floor downstairs. I got a foam pad from the furniture store next door; a couple of pillows and a very light cotton blanket, because I sleep mostly on my side and I like to wad it between my bony knees. The floor gets first light, through the patio doors, so I woke in plenty of time to clean-up, shave, have a nice egg on toast, get a second cup of coffee, and read for an hour (critical theory about modern literature) before heading into town. The Jet Intake Cleaner has helped with the truck, it runs a little smoother. D and I go for coffee (and my scone) and we discuss his day yesterday, looking through one of the great collections of prints, at the Kennedy, over at OU in Athens. World class. Everybody that's any good is represented. Problem is that they're mostly not framed, so if D wants to put together, say, a 'modern' show, we'd probably have to go over there and frame them, which would be cool, but take four or five days. Whatever the show, it will have legs, play other venues, and that would more than cover the up-front costs of putting the show together and crating it. For others to decide. After TR had helped me clear the main gallery of the sundry racks of tables and chairs, which had involved rearranging everything in the kitchen and store room, I was finally able to address the cleaning of the remnants of a sit down dinner, as what it was remembered. I'd go to sleep. I' I were you. Fuck a bunch of possibility.