Confusion

Some sort of confusion outside, two in the morning; enough to wake me from a dead sleep. I was so exhausted, yesterday, I stopped by Kroger and got sushi so I wouldn't have to cook (the other option was beans and an egg on toast) and a bottle of whiskey. My feet and my hips hurt. The floor, in the main gallery, is ceramic tile, over terrazzo, over concrete, and it is bloody hard. I need better shoes. Sara has been on me about this for several years, but I'm like a back-country Pentecostal preacher, and I can't imagine having more than one pair of shoes. Actually I have four, work boots, winter work boots, house slippers, and the shoes I wear every day. The confusion outside was two very large white dogs, I don't know what they are, Bulgarian Bear Dogs, and they're fighting over a road-kill squirrel I brought home for the crows. I run them off, with a couple of rocks. Large dogs and bears. The alternative, I suppose, is that you let these things happen unanswered. I've just about given up on the system. But I still have rocks, and I can throw them. Not necessarily to applaud myself, but you should know I throw rocks with great accuracy. I did get back to sleep, then overslept and was a few minutes late to the museum. Right to work, hanging the last of the paintings. I got the grouping of six done first, and they're almost perfect. I had to use a few tricks. Mark and Sara got the lighting all finished while I was hanging the last few pieces. It looks wonderful. Everyone was quite complimentary about the job I'd done. Between D's show upstairs, re-hanging the Carters, and this show, I'd used all of the larger hanging hardware, and bought out the hardware store. Just enough of everything. I've never used so many plastic anchors, and the walls are going to look like Swiss cheese when this show comes down. But over the January break we're having some plaster repair done; and the entire main gallery, with its vaulted 25 foot ceiling, repainted. Nothing is sacred..