WHAT TO DO ON A WEEKDAY

Lunch in the company of others used to be a normal occurrence.
When I still worked at the computer factory in Menlo park, a few of us would regularly head into Palo Alto for something tasty. The delis in the industrial zone ranged from miserable to bloody awful, and civilized people should not have had to eat there. Once I started working in San Francisco, the lunch hour was taken up with reading the internet news, and heading off to the wall for a smoke. Social, yes. But not really with my coworkers. Most of whom had unimaginative tastes and lived in the suburbs; Whitebreadistan.


I have a fantasy of eating lunch with another person during my off-days. Problem is that it's been such a while since I had lunch in company that I might forget to chew. A man with his mouth agape is not a pretty sight. Best, perhaps, to do that at dusk, so the back of the tongue is not quite so visible. And it would have to be with someone who looks good in half-light. Perhaps in a darkened apartment, curtains drawn or blinds closed.


FADE INTO DAYDREAM

Daylight is for surprises. Especially morning, before the coffee has hit the central cortex. When there are still crows flitting about the brain. Hold on tight, it's a bumpy ride.
It always is. Waking up.
Again.
If you know where you are, it must have been a very nice evening. Or maybe you came over with hot coffee at nine A.M. Yours with plenty of milk, mine nearly black. You fell asleep; I marveled.
Your skin, so warm.

The book slid from your grasp as your eyes closed. You looked utterly peaceful, I did not want to wake you up. Perhaps I shoved a big green fuzzy frog into your arms, or brought the last monkey to enter the apartment over to keep you company.
His dark fur is exceptionally soft.
Silky against the cheeks.
He's a nice fellow.

In the silence I turned off the light. Went to the bathroom to wash and get dressed. You still dozed when I returned, when the sun hit the back of the building. The shards of sun that came in through the blinds illuminated your face.
I tweaked the blinds, so that it was bright enough to read.
You didn't stir till lunchtime. Early afternoon.
Your coffee was quite cold by then.
And you wanted a cigar.


Yeah, okay, the final detail is a bit odd. Fantasizing about a young lady who likes cheroots. Yet there are a number of such women, and most of them are quite feminine. It would be even more unrealistic to imagine a girl with a thing for pipe-tobacco and fine briar.

I am, above all, a realist. My dreams do not deviate from the possible.
No matter how improbable or unobtainable that "possible" is.


One problem with the scenario above is that I do not eat breakfast, and often don't have lunch till after two o'clock. Most women are ravenous beasts by then, and normal people experience low blood sugar events without a noon-time meal.
Eating in company is good; if you're hungry.
But not too hungry. Not starving.
That's why I have cookies.

The other somewhat unrealistic elements are that I'm already quite awake by nine o'clock, have had two cups of coffee by then, and am already splashing around in the bath. So I'd come to the front door dripping wet. That, too, is a startling sight, and I'm not sure anyone is ready for that.
I specified "at nine A.M." because my apartment mate will have left for work. And instead of bringing over coffee, how about a having cup of tea instead? I'll put the kettle on, then head back into the bathroom to finish shaving, after which we'll read our books together.
If you want a cigar, that's perfectly all right.
More tea before lunch.
Or dozing.


The final bit of irreality is that in a few hours I shall be in Marin.
Which is where I am every Wednesday and Thursday.




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