A cloudy day...

...which means I once again didn't get to see the comet that is supposedly visible at sunrise and sunset, even though I was awake at dawn and, of course, at dusk. Maybe tomorrow. Or not, since the weather forecast is for clouds and a threat of rain I don't believe will materialize.

All in all, though, it was not the worst day of my life. No, the expected checks have yet to appear in my mailbox, I didn't win the lottery -- since I didn't buy a ticket, can't expect that -- and no women showed any signs of lusting after my aging but still fully-functional body.

But I did give the editor who was responsible for Monday's near-debacle a good talking-to this morning. In the same tone of voice I might use to banter with my neighbors about life Where The Ghetto Meets The Sea, I told him that the photographer he assigned to the story pissed me off hugely and nearly made it impossible for me to do my work. I also suggested that he (or at least his magazine) might like to pay for the $75-worth of Premium Unleaded the car I drove (and in which I chauffeured the photographer-creep) devoured during the trip to and from the photo location.

I don't know whether the fact that he is counting on me to complete the two feature articles for his next issue within the next 10 days -- plus one of the major features for the following issue -- had anything to do with it, but he was unusually conciliatory. For once, he was not his usual shitweasel self.

Not, you understand, that I trust the little cretin any farther than I could carry him up a WD-40-soaked flagpole....

Inevitably, the subject of this afternoon's "favor" came up. I told him I was not against being helpful, so long as the current trend of his assigning me big stories -- in addition to the time-consuming historical features he's given me in the past -- continued.

PARENTHETICAL THOUGHT: I felt it unnecessary to say that since today's photo location was a mere 45-minute drive each way from my place and not 237 miles each way, and the photographer involved had the skill to complete the job in two hours and not seven hours, it was less of a sacrifice.

To my surprise, he told me he expected me to write at least half the story that will result from today's photo-session. The other writer had staked out one aspect; he wanted me to cover the rest.

This improved my mood considerably, as did working with a photog who is a long-time friend, talented as hell, and a collaborator, not a vain "artist" who expects everyone else to stand the hell back and let him create.

All I need, every once in a while, is to be around people who respect what I can do and I'm a veritable pussycat....

Nope. That's not exactly all. I still need money, more desperately than I let on to most people. And I still need to find a woman who digs me, keeps her promises, and doesn't....*

So it wasn't the worst day in history. Even if I still need better things, and soon.


* No, I won't go into that spiel again....