(You may need to pardon the spelling in this entry... I'm still drunk...)
Sometimes I think that being married to an artist is more than Vicky signed on for...
So, I'm starting work on this new book, and one thing that's happening is that it's possessing my mind like crazy. I would use the word "occupying" but "possessing" is probably more appropriate.
Jeff came by tonight and we all sat around and talked. I started drinking, something I haven't really done since I lost my job. One thing that happens when I drink is that I start talking. Since my mind is so preoccupied with this new book, everything I see or hear or think about has this direct relation with the new book.
And so, I talk about it. And on. And on.
For Vicky, it must get tiring.
But, for me, it's the way my mind makes the connections between what is in the real world and what is in the book.
Here's what's in it right now: Buddha, before enlightenment. Think about that for just one second. Jesus was the son of God. Mohammed was divinely inspired. Buddha, on the other hand, was just this guy who figured things out. Before he did that... well, things had to be kind of frustrating.
The book is about this longing for accomplishment. And I can't help but feel that Buddha must have felt that - before he reached enlightenment.
I'm not saying I'm anywhere near close - in fact, I'm not. But I can feel a connection with the sublime one before he reached that point... and I keep thinking about it. And, as I drank tonight, it pounded at my head... and I kept talking.
Mind you, as I got really drunk, it was kind of a gobbledy-gook...
And that brings me back to Vicky. What a chore she must have. Being married to me must be... irritating. One minute, I'm talking about multi-dimensional physics... and I write a book about it. Then, I'm talking about the epiphany that comes with suicide... and I write a book about going to the Grand Canyon. Now, I'm stuck in what I can only call the philosophy of accomplishment, or the lack of it, or "middle-aged angst"... and this leads me to my new book.
And Vicky has to keep in mind that, normally, I'm an okay guy. I'm just stuck in this new book.
She's really pretty incredible. She encourages me and cheers me on - and she's probably wondering where the hell I am.
I am an incredibly lucky man.
Thanks, Vic. This drunken slob - this out of work, drunken cacophany of a human - really loves you.