Most Chaotic

A day for the record books. Most Chaotic. The elevator guys were tearing things apart when I got to work, loudly. Using hammer drills and big metal-cutting saws, stuff was falling down the elevator shaft. Then the wedding-party decorating crew arrived, to work in the main gallery. Then the electrician arrived, to confer with the head elevator guy and I had to listen to part of that conversation because I need to stay on top of scheduling, for instance the electrician needs to come in on a Monday, soon (when we're not open), so he can shut down all power to the building, he needs to add some new sub-panels. D had taken a 'personal day' off, TR was maxed out on his hours, so he was gone; and I was left there with the petty bullshit. I only slightly vented one time, when Sara and I were out having a cigaret, and she'd already pre-approved my venting. The son of a sailor swears like one. It's what you hear early on. There's a particular rock embedded in the driveway, that, when I'm walking in, I like to address in the middle of my (right) step. It means I'm 42 paces from my door and nothing else matters. Inside my house, things are frozen in time, I mean it's hot (86 degrees) but things are just as I left them, the essay about Winslow Homer's later style on the island, and eclectic cookbook open to the idea of corn pudding on the sofa, and a long article about bears at my desk. No fiction, because town was congested and I didn't feel like bucking traffic to get to the library. "River Days", arcade/fair going on. I slipped in the back way to Kroger and got a few things, but these goddamn holidays are a pain in the ass. Clay surprised me at lunch today, a welcome break, I was getting morose, fucking weddings and elevators. How constructs are finite. And he had some pictures, on his cell phone, from the National Gallery, and we talked about art and Emily and road trips. We agreed, absolutely, that the museum was not the venue for certain events. Weddings with kegs of beer would be high on my list. Say what you might. Clever sleek bastard with a hat could be just enough to turn the corner. I only acknowledge that it might be possible. That there was a corner, that it could be turned.