Wednesday. Clear sky, bright sun, a good breakfast at the usual place, the Wednesday morning business group in the back pretty much obfuscated by a couple sitting across from me, all their voices blending into a babble that allowed me to read my papers in comfort without distraction. A normal sort of a morning, in other words, after a decent night's rest. I think the days are pretty much back to normal and I am comfortably back in my rut. No judgments here, just saying. The left eye is still a bit puffed, still leaking a bit, but getting better; the right eye that started it all much better. A bullet missed, perhaps, or a standard pothole in the road traversed but leaving the undercarriage unscarred.
You're seriously close to hyperbole here, mismatched metaphors and the like.
When have we ever been all that far from disaster?
Interesting to watch yesterday unfold after I'd posted the journal entry just after noon. The elements lost to whatever it was came back a piece at a time and the mind grew clearer, the stamina stronger and by evening, things seemed close to being healed. Nice. Lost a couple of pounds in those three days, but I suspect they too will return soon enough. Not the appetite from the feel of it, but everything else. But enough, I think, of talking of things now passed to the past. (Thank goodness.)
I was going to say “thank god” with the small “g”, but then decided not to tempt the fates and, rather than go to the big “G”, I changed it to “goodness”. A phrase my grandmothers often used. Superstition, of course, but it doesn't hurt to throw a little salt over the shoulder for the sake of balance. Which shoulder I forget, but I'm sure I could find it if I wanted on the web. OK, the left shoulder where the devil sits. I thought that might be the case, but had to look it up. Left shoulder, the devil. Left shoulder, the devil....
But enough. I'm not sure why I write such things other than they're true. We live in a touchy society and although around here not many would raise an eyebrow, to others in other areas, such juggling of words and letters could result in an unpleasant scene. Which is pretty odd from my point of view, but I've found mine isn't the only point of view around. Something it's best to remember, now and again, especially when you're not sure you've hit your mark. Does anyone really know what the American culture is from following our press? Best to follow the foreign press to get a more candid and accurate picture is my guess. But then that's my thought and, strange to say now twice, mine aren't shared by anyone else.
Where's this going other than circles?
I have no idea. I'm still coming off a cold without my feet firmly planted yet on the ground. So I have excuses. Many excuses useful in avoiding rewrites.
Later. OK, in addition to still being a bit dingy, we are not in any way up to full strength. I did get out the door with a camera, t-shirt weather, very nice, the air clear, people in large numbers running the lake. My total journey consisted of walking across Grand and down to one of the benches beside the lake to sit for a while with the camera on my lap, raising it to take a picture of one of the gnarled twisted trees that populate the area now coming into bloom. Nice.
A walk not all that farther down to sit at another bench and take another picture, again the sun sharp and clear, spring now really in evidence. A walk back by what I call my, what, standard tree, my normal tree I've photographed so many times to see if I can show its flowers? A bit behind the curve, my tree, a late starter, its flowers not nearly as obvious, but they will be in another few days. I can wait.
So back now, another nap is in order, some semblance of an appetite in evidence, we'll see what the afternoon may bring.
Later still. Not a bad afternoon. A half nap listening to the radio, a program about press censorship in the U.S. that stirred me up a bit. Which is odd as I thought I was about as stirred up as the next guy who listens to this stuff. Caused me to download two books from Amazon, Into The Buzzsaw by Kristina Borjesson and The Road to 9/11 by Peter Dale Scott, both focusing on known black holes to be avoided by news organizations and investigative journalists, neither of which I'd heard of before. So much for my reading. But I've talked about that.
So, downloaded the books, took a run to the supermarket for bread, cheese and liverwurst (comfort food), made a sandwich, ate the sandwich and settled in with The Buzzsaw. The afternoon has gone quickly. A little more reading this evening and then to sleep. A good day, a slow day that needed to be a slow day. Be interested to see if I'm able to finish either of these books. Might if they make me mad enough.