YOU'RE THE TOPS. I'M AT BOTTOM.

I didn't hunt this morning. The temp. dropped about 50 degrees and I was still nursing my wounds from Monday's attempts at getting to NYC. Here's a re-cap:

   The day started with the cat jumping on my head at 4 am, a half hour before the alarm was set to go off. I knew the day trip and a long night was ahead of me, so I turned over, clicked off the alarm, as Cheeky snuggled into my beard for some dry nursing, as I hoped to get some more sleep. My plan was to sleep in, pack a bag, pick up my dry cleaned suit, check Shirley's oil, find my dress boots and head to the city about 2pm. I never even made it to the dry cleaners.
   About 100 yards from the Kiamesha exit I heard a clatter, saw the oil light was on, and by the time I was half way up the exit, Shirley stopped. I had a quart of oil on the floor. I twisted off the cap and smoke belched out. I poured the oil in, praying as it went. I turned the key. She moaned. Then nothing. Just then a guy in a old red jeep pulled over. "Broke down?" he asked. "Do you have a cell?" I asked. What followed was a comedy of bullshit with AAA. I had a card on Shewho's account. "What is the account holder's PO box?" The AAA operator asked. I had multiple names, addresses, phone #s, but I did not know her PO box. Sorry. No AAA.

So now let me skip ahead a little. I got a tow and ended up taking a bus,  getting to the opening about 7pm. I'm in my suit and new shirt, with a tooth brush in my pocket.  New York is sweltering. The show is great. I see old friends and drink a lot of white wine. Shewho works the room like the true pro she is. When the opening is over it's off to a fancy dinner at a very long table. The food is good. The white turns to red and the evening continues.
    Then about a half hour before the whole shindig is over, it hits me. The demon comes out. I can't blame it entirely on the booze or the blown engine, or the heat. He just came out. I glazed over and looked up and down the long table of very nice, albeit entitled, privileged people, and began to hate every one of them. They'd only been cordial and pleasant to me. I had no reason at all. Ok. Maybe I had a few.

    Thankfully I kept it together until I got out the door. But Shewho was not as lucky as the rest of the table. She did not escape. All my baggage, my insecurities, my weak, flaccid ego, the CRAP that comes along with 40 years as one of those artists who doesn't sell, or even show, came out on the walk back to the hotel. It was pure jealousy. Shewho did not deserve it. And that's an understatement.
    The next day i beat it back to the mountain, tail between my legs. And here's the funny part. After all this embarrassing, immature, negative , assholish behavior, Shewho still talks to me. She doesn't really understand the demon, but she forgives me and doesn't kick my pitiful ass to the curb. It's a cliche to say i don't deserve her. But it's really true.  As of this morning I thought to myself "I've finally hit bottom."
    I  put the cat in the truck, and went to the hospital. No, not the psych ward. I went to give blood. If I was going to ask artists to give blood, i had to roll up my sleeve first. Then as I read the booklet of restrictions to give blood I realized how ludicrous it was to ask artists to do this. If you are a gay male, have hep, HIV, or take any number of prescription meds., give sex for money, receive sex for money, travel almost anywhere outside the U.S., have had a tattoo in the past year, etc. etc.,  you cannot give blood. I lied about the tattoo, told them I sometimes get breakfast after sex and hadn't taken it up the ass since 1972. "Roll up your sleeve, sir." the nice nurse said.

    I felt pretty good after my bloodletting. Maybe the demon's juice was in the bag. Then I got an email about my big 3 day Brooklyn Blood Drive. The Red Cross wouldn't do it. Too small fry. The gallery wouldn't fly out the curator, nor cover shipping- to or fro, and expected me to sit the gallery for the three days. How's that for a career? I have another fancy opening and dinner to go to tomorrow. The car is in the shop with a blown engine and it's supposed to snow tonight. How will I fare? "Keep that demon down boy." I tell myself. Don't be such an asshole. Obviously bottom is still a long way down.