Monday. December 17, 2001

.

selling the flag

"A patriot is a fool in ev'ry age. ".

Alexander Pope

I do get up. I haven't really been asleep. I sort of make myself presentable. And drive to the office and wait. My co-worker comes and we drive off into a traffic jam to get out of Austin. But we do. He makes it down 290. He's had a sleepless night. I find it easy to stay awake but I'm not driving. Into the sun.

I can't imagine that the meeting will go well. But it really goes as well as it possibly could, I think. It is a miracle. I have another meeting over lunch in one of the company cafeterias. The chicken with greens and rice and bourbon sauce is delcious.

And we drive back. At some convenience store I notice a spot of blood on the gauze. But it isn't bad. We make it back to Austin and traffic. But I'm at home by 5:30. Bleary-eyed, confused, but HOME.

FFP heats some leftover chicken and rice from the party (thanks Tana) and I have that and, I confess, a couple of drinks (Jack Daniels and water) and some brie left from the party (thanks, Rebecca) and I read the papers. Work the crosswords. Watch sappy Christmas movies. And fall convincingly asleep. FFP's Monday night line-up was usurped by Christmas specials and re-runs. So he just dozed in his chair. And, of course, his night was robbed of the sleep time last night so that was good.

I have peeled off the bloody gauze and the tape. The wound has closed neatly and looks like nothing much. Yeah. I'm a fast healer. ("Some people are fast healers," the nurse said. "You may not even need to put more strips on.").

JUST TYPING
Distance.
Marked by convenience store.
Gas pump.
Public restrooms.
Snack foods.
All alike and different.