Sunday I was searching for inspiration for some writing I am doing; I need a long-term budget for VAF to offer on Monday but it just was not jelling.
I thought I might see some friends at Big Al's so I rode my bike over.
The quality couples - Ralph and Katherine, John and Carole - weren't there.
The drinking men were - I can't recall all their names but they ignored me, except for Jeff who said hello and that's all. The bar tender served me, all others ignored me, except when I physically stopped and addressed Allen.
I felt sad. So much time and money I'd spent there, and it was all pretty much a waste.
The miniature rain garden was there that I had urged them to apply for. The extension cords I had lent for the soup contest. And cash.
And Kris. She was holding court, having brought rice krispy treats in the pyrex dish I lent her.
There is a time when bad manners is the message.
There is a time to accept the message and move on.
It's not just Big Al's that I don't need; it's drinking itself.
I enjoy the taste of one beer well enough, but drinking alcohol is a big of a mystery - what's up with that?
It makes me sleepy, and I don't especially have trouble sleeping.
When I am in a happy environment, it might make me more loquacious but I don't really have trouble with that either.
I was at Big Al's Sunday night looking to hold on to something that both did not exist and that I did not need.
I am preparing to make a pitch to people who could buy everything on that lot with a personal check; this does not make them better or worse people but it makes my work better served by them that by a pack of genial drunks talking about nothing - which was funny on Seinfeld, pointless in life.
It is o.k. to leave behind those who do not wish to come along.