NEEDLING

Jeune parents branché, artistes, pseudo artistes, et branleurs. That’s the kind of bar, the closest one to my house, where I’ve been having a couple of American pints this late afternoon. I specify the ‘American’ part of the pint because it is much smaller than an English pint. Every time I order a pint in an American bar, I feel as if I’m getting totally cheated, which I am.

Anyway... just trying to step out of the house. This morning, early, I went to the H.E.B. (local supermarket chain) and bought a styrofoam cooler, some sandwich food, and ice, then came back home to pick up my dog. We went to the lake, had a swim, some sandwiches, a snooze, another swim, and a small walk through the woods. Perfect. I should do this more often, and for different reasons. This morning, I woke up pissed off at my neighbors and decided to hit town so as not to have to see them today. Which kind of screwed things up because I would explode at no pre-announced time holding a monologue out loud to my non-present neighbors with an argument explaining my point of contention. I did, for several moments, achieve peace while forgetting my anger, and actually enjoyed the lake, my dog, the sandwich food, the laying on a towel on the grass sleeping... but the bursts of angry speeches spoken towards the trees and to the air came out every once in a while uncontrollably. I could barely keep myself from assaulting innocent lake-bystanders, from whom I stayed as far away as possible for everybody’s safety.

To keep me calm and descent, I was reading stories from The Neon Wilderness by Nelson Algren... a wonderful writer.