I’m alive again.
Yesterday I saw 11 people in Hyannis and drove 5 hours r/t. Exhausting: Opiates, alcohol, low I.Q., trauma. “Nice….,” as Santos would say.
Drove through a forested area–Blue Hills–on the way home, in the rain, with the younger of my two dogs.
The radio played the new Springsteen: If he was any more bombastic, he would be operatic. I kind of like that, actually:
“BRUCE!” now showing at the MET. Better yet, Broadway: “BRUCE!” It really would make a great musical.
Remember: You heard it here first.
Once home: Made garganelli with jowls: Amatriciana. Martini, a fire, then the first twenty minutes of the very dreadful, poorly written, shopworn “Hoover,” and I’m down for the count.
This A.M., at eight, off to a psychiatric hospital to consult on a woman who wants drugs for an attentional disorder.
She has an I.Q. of 55, drinks like a fish, and loves crack cocaine.
This is not a person with an attentional disorder.
Good news: Three people are going to give big bucks to Project Hip Hop. One of them owns a certain restaurant
and is offering food for our fundraiser. Is this the real meaning of the 1%? Stay tuned.
For the rest of the day, I’ll edit, run, and seek pizza, and the while thinking of you.