I quit.
I’m giving up.
Not really, but as I was walking yesterday afternoon, reflecting on life, the universe, the moon in Sagittarius, and the amount of abuse I’ve been receiving in e-mail lately. Some frankly confessional material I can do without, at least, when there’s no paycheck attached, I wonder if I’m bound by any professional ethics like anonymity.
I had two observations, as I sidled along on the trail, burdened by no more than a shirt in hand, while trying to figure out where to have lunch. One was a scene of a great blue heron, on one end of a dock, and huge white egret, on the other side of that dock. The long legged birds are graceful, and they seemed to think that the water was too cold for their tastes. Or maybe the hunting wasn’t very good. Or maybe, there was some sort of inter-species mating thing going on. I know pretty much next to nothing about the sex life of birds. For all I know, they might be the same brand of bird, just different sexes, or that blue-gray heron looking guy was the old man, and the young one was one of his groupies?
Further along the trail, matter of fact, it’s in the shoals of Shoal Creek, right where the creek enters the river, there’s a collection of some kind of rock sculptures. Ad hoc artistic constructions of some kind. My red-headed Cap buddy pointed them out to me the other day. It was funny, she saw male genitalia, and I kept seeing that leggy blond from the other night, thin and serene. Good artwork, if it can evoke such a different yet similar reaction from both of us.
I finally opted to go the distance, added a few extra miles to my route, and walked into Green Mesquite, close to home. Two meat plate, Tuesday’s special. Chewing on a toothpick, as I left satiated, I got thinking about a scene from last summer, hot summer day, a Gemini picked me up at the Green Mesquite, and we went for a quick swim in the holy water at Barton Springs. Most folks take their dogs over there on a hot day; I wondered how I could spin that story up into a decent scope, and I reached to write it down. “Most folks take their dogs there, Gemini takes her astrologer for dip.” Then I stopped myself. I forgot, I’ve got enough material to last more than a year, and I’m quitting for a while.
I love writing the scopes, and they’re going up, barring unforeseen circumstances, for the next year and half; that’s not the problem.
Too bad I’m thinking of a quote from Kevin Smith’s epic thriller, “Clerks” again.
Then one of my buddies writes:
> You have the coolest website by the way!!…one of the
> best I’ve ever seen… Too bad you’re a godless
> heathen astrologer and cavorter with demonic forces…
> if only all that talent could be turned to the Light
> side of the force!!…
Comments like that? Kevin Fowler has a great promo T-shirt, “Yee-fucking-haw.”
“After all, I know your real age. 29. Don’t worry, I won’t tell a soul.” [via fredlet>
