Transgressions

Only the Wittgenstein Plumber would be concerned about transgressions. Boring health-care crap is a product of life. My feet are killing me. I've broken so many toes that my feet look like fiddle-sticks, and I can't take a hike anymore, That hot sand between my toes is a distant dream. I got to town early enough (going down the creek road, and for the second straight day I didn't pass a car in the 7.5 miles) and stopped at Market Street for a protein / fruit smoothie. I hadn't been there for a while, and they were so happy to see me, that they wouldn't let me pay for it. I put several dollars in the tip jar. Great way to start the day. Word from M and C that they would be back, with the African art, sometime after noon (which means five minutes to five, which is precisely when they showed up) and that we needed to clean out some extra space because they were bringing more than expected. The collection is from a black university in New Orleans, and they were thrilled, the university, that the work was leaving, because the storage space hadn't been cleaned since Katrina. Cleaning out more space, here, meant moving stuff from one place to another. The space is finite, you can only cram so many yolks into a given omelet. TR was so fucking cool today, we were on the third floor, with Pegi, looking at a pile of boxes, and the one that we were looking at was labeled 'Box 8', and both Pegi and I knew, right away, that meant there were seven other boxes, and we weren't sure eight was the end of the line. TR pointed to it, in his offhand way, and said "8". I laughed until I nearly choked to death. The most brilliant mind, except for mine, is dying in a motel in Georgia, and I can't do anything about it. Think about that.