Conflicted Interest

Too much hype and bullshit. I voted early so I could bury my head in the sand tomorrow and hang a high school show. Stopped at Kroger, to get cream, for my coffee, and noticed a dozen young women wearing tights that revealed every aspect of their ass. I wonder what I'm supposed to make of that. I'm still suspicious of daylight savings time. It's like there's a bunch of hoops and we're supposed to jump through them. The new phones are smart enough to change the time. While I'm manually rolling back an hour, in the kitchen and the common room, I think about time, and how arbitrary it is. I'll be late, for a few days, until I get the hang of it. I don't like these artificial overlays, they obscure what's actually happening. The days getting shorter. Comes down to light, and the angle. I don't believe anything anymore, as a matter of course, because reality is so easily manipulated. D can take any old photo and restore the values, sampling one thing for another. But the nature of things remains. I have to check that plural in the morning. What I miss, the most, and I've known them forty years, is the level of conversation. Linda says that between Glenn and me, we cover all the bases, which is not quite true. I know almost nothing about modern culture, for instance, because I don't own a TV, but Zach and Linda fill in the blanks, and we would be a formidable Pub Quiz team. I lose track of time, when I'm with them, and maybe that's the test. I was so sad to see them go, because it meant we wouldn't be focusing our complete attention on Emily. I'm wasted, actually, completely exhausted, emotional overload, with the attendant tics and twitches. The price you pay for paying attention. I'll probably call the janitor college book "Janitor College", and the cook book, after that, would be "Caramelized", the other two books on the immediate horizon are "Some Frogs" and 'The Verges" and I have copious notes toward several other volumes, a sequence of books that define life on the ridge. Docenting. The Columbus Museum is sending another batch of docents down, to pick my brain, I've become the Carter guy, by default. I put on white cotton gloves and handle the nude drawings carefully. Point out certain characteristics, the way he frames nature, and it almost seems I'm making sense.