dude. five paintings at five hundred dollars apiece. quick, do the math. i did, and i thought to myself, between sips of art show red wine in a plastic cup, “i could do that.” why haven’t i done that? where are the stories i’ve been meaning to write? where are the books i was supposed to make? where did last year go and is 2002 going to go there, too?
no. i won’t let it.
it’s like my friend once told me after going back to work after a chunk of time off: all of a sudden you get this feeling that you shouldn’t waste any more time. nine hours of your day (eleven, if you commute) are already devoured by work; don’t let the other 15 pass you by. make every free second count.
this morning, i woke up before 9 and took a walk to the blue awning café, which isn’t its real name but i always get it wrong so i have dubbed it that, instead.
how beautiful. a trace of gauze clouds stretched across the big blue sky. i sat at a table facing the street and watched people walk in and out the door, watched dogs chase their tails, watched cars zoom by. i felt like i had all the time in the world, and in a way, i guess i do.