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Thursday,
March 28, 2002
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a snap from my office, long ago
"If you have genius, industry
will improve it; if you have none, industry will supply its place."
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head down Wake up dreaming. There is someone in the dream who rarely appears, just one of those people you know from social stuff but don't expect in your dreams. When I was in the shower, I remembered a lot of it but I've forgotten it now. Work. Lunch in the office. Accomplish little. However, I am trying to do so. Actually working hard at it. Sometimes the results are just the same.
Forrest is gone to a meeting when I get home. I work on computer backups, read, watch some tube. I feel like eating or drinking but I wait for him.
We decide to go out. We call Fonda. One hour wait. We call Zoot. They will have our regular table ready. In the car, FFP hands me a magazine to hold. (He always drives me at night. Almost.) "You brought something to read," I say. "There are some magazines in the back seat," he says. So when we get there I look in the back seat. There is a book of short stories. (A Blind Man Can See How Much I Love You by Amy Bloom.) I have a special soup (a smoked Roma tomato with garnish). And a scallop dish (also a special) in a broth with asparagus and mushrooms. FFP has the same thing. We don't usually do that. Get the same thing, that is. FFP had a martini at the club last night and doesn't feel like drinking. I have a glass of Heritage Road Chardonnay from Australia. It's delicious, grassy and steely, not over-oaked or butter soup.
The book of stories is strange, yet engaging. So, at home, I just keep reading it. I think about having another drink. But I have a Dr. Pepper instead.
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179
JUST
TYPING