Not Unusual

More people know me than I know. This is the phenomena of appearance. Fellow moppers recognize a stroke and ask if I'm that guy. Sometimes, just to be contrary, I deny any connection. I'd already gone home, but something I'd said led one person to hitting another and a small riot ensued. Responsibility only extends so far. I disavow everything. I was asleep, alone. I can't prove a damn thing. What I'm talking about. But I seem to be making sense. My fantasy, extended. When I get home from a very long day, my phone is out, again, and I have mail backed up. It's frustrating. Last day of accepting art and it's a bumper crop, there's art work everywhere in the museum, in the Richards gallery things are two deep. Pretty much what I did all day was deal with art and artists. I have to explain to several people that I know more about handling artwork than they do. Many acquaintances, and several new people that interest me. An old lady brought in three nudes that are wonderful. Keri, I own one of her college nudes, brought in a magnificent watercolor of a slightly garish woman that is fantastic. A great show, and barely time to hang it. I try to not get upset by the scheduling muck, but somebody doesn't have half a brain. Tomorrow is ridiculous. It's like three days in one. I can do it, it's a stretch, but I'm good at this. Making a show happen. All that old theater training comes to bare, you make a list and prioritize. I fell asleep on the sofa, woke to a pack of coon hounds, six in the morning, just after dawn, and the dogs are milling around my compost heap, smelling where the coons have been. Two Red-Bones, a Blue-Tick, and a couple of mutts; I take them out a bowl of water and left-overs from the fridge. They've been running all night. The Blue-Tick is alpha male and a lovely dog, deigns to let me scratch behind his ears. I check his tags and he's local, so I don't worry about the them finding their way home. I have a dial-tone, I'd better send this.