THANKSGIVING FRIDAY

Friday morning. Day after Thanksgiving. It's nine. I hear a pounding at the door. It's a pest control crew. They do their thing. I can say that in the last 18 months since I've lived in these apartments I haven't seen a cockroach although I was bitten by a brown recluse spider, which, fortunately, only caused minor discomfort.

I don't have a television. My laptop provides all my entertainment, from my own writings to listening to music. I select the best of Charlie Parker.
In the old days I would have started the day with a joint, but my lungs aren't as healthy as before and COVID--which I still fear--attacks those organs with a vengeance.
I go to my cupboard and collect my morning meds and vitamins. They must be functioning because my health has been good lately. I chase them down with a glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice. I prepare a pot of coffee and eat a bowl of cereal with strawberries. The day gains its first momentum.
My personal life has been reduced to a day-to-day existence. I can only keep control over my life in short time frames. I am so insignificant that I don't even fit in the big picture anymore. I'm consigned to cameo appearances.
Since I've been traveling so much in Mexico, I have overcome my fear of Matamoros. I'm thinking I should spend more time across the river. Oscar Casares gained his literary fame with his first book entitled BROWNSVILLE. I can follow his example and pen MATAMOROS.
There was a time when nobody knew Matamoros better than I did. Between roaming the streets and the passages of my memory, I could have enough material for a provocative read.
I am responsible for my own travail. My closet is filled with so many skeletons that there is no room for more bones. I have been through three divorces and numerous failed relationships although each provided moments of intense joy and goose-bump excitement.
The good has been worth the bad, but the bad can have a cumulative effort as the guilt and regrets come back to haunt you. Every sensible person, however, knows that the end isn't going to be pleasant.
I take comfort in that I've had an adventurous and satisfying 74 years. If the bottom falls out, I can always free my spirit and allow it to follow its own destiny if there's a destiny to be followed.
One article finished. I'm off to a good start. Maybe it's time to listen to Monk and give free reign to my spontaneity.

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