All That Often
Tuesday. To bed early again, tired, but up with the alarm to head off to breakfast on what is going to be another sunny and even warmer day. Which is good. Not for the drought (we must be P.C. and mention we're not in favor of the drought, which we are not, but still in favor of sun and warmth if we can't have rain).
Driving home I passed a line of big dump trucks, another threading its way onto the apartment house construction site as I turned the corner to my street, so they're going to lose a whole lot of that earth they've got piled up today. Which will be worth a picture. I'd think. Something to do over the next hour. Good. We can complain about not wanting to go anywhere later, maybe until tomorrow, as we have a guitar lesson and a couple of prescription refills to pick up in the afternoon.
All of today's decisions made for you by fate so you have no need to fret?
Fate? Guitar lessons and prescriptions to be retrieved are fate? Freedom from fret, reasons to feel good? Indecision so easily cured? I have no idea where this is going, undoubtedly something I'm missing here.
Later. And so a brief walk over to the construction site to see what they were up to, the string of dump trucks no longer in place in the middle of Grand, but they were rolling trucks through and filling them quite quickly, another truck seemingly showing up and loading about every ten minutes and so there was no need for a line.
Anyway, pictures and back to the apartment. Maybe go down and pick up those prescriptions now so I don't have to do it while packing the guitar, another excuse to get out of the house. Any excuse to get out of the house in the mornings and afternoons, any excuse to stay inside in the evenings. You could say there was balance there if you were reaching for straws couldn't keep your mouth from running off.
Later still. A quick bus trip downtown to pick up the prescriptions, no reason to have to get them while juggling the guitar, lunch and a lesson. The trucks still running one after another through the construction site.
Home now as it approaches noon. One last go through on the guitar in preparation for the lesson. Why I'm taking guitar lessons (I continue to ask). I don't know, but I am, and it seems at some level to sooth, even though I continue to fight/worry over the time I'm spending/not spending on practice. I practice every day, yes, but how long are the sessions? An hour? Is that enough? Why do I not make the effort to play along with the assigned songs when I'm going through the melodies and the chord changes? Don't know, but I keep on asking.
Late afternoon. Back now after the lesson, fairly clear headed, although the sinuses and upper palate are aching more than I like. An extra pain pill seems to have helped.
I'd walked two bus stops down to Perkins in case my bus didn't come, caught the alternate bus when the usual bus was indeed running late (if at all), had lunch at Genji's in the Rotunda building to finish up ten minutes before the lesson was due to start.
And I had another couldn't remember a damned thing through it lesson. Clear headed enough, but confusing chord names and changes we've been doing now for the last two years. What is this about? I'm consistent, at least, blanking out when identifying the barre chords. I can play them well enough (if the beat isn't too fast), but it would be disturbing if it weren't so interesting to experience. Not something I would have done in the past.
More pictures, of course, of the earth being loaded at the construction site. Quite a bit moved out today, more (I'm assuming) tomorrow, all of it by the end of the week? I'm sure they won't put themselves in a place where they become too aggressive and have to move a load or two back, but again, interesting to watch. We will do something with this, but a presentation that goes through the entire two year construction period in a reasonable number of pictures, can't do all this day to day stuff.
Evening. I've been feeling pretty good this late afternoon and through the evening, certainly in comparison to recent evenings. Nothing much on television, a fair amount of time put in on the guitar (we're always a little more hyped in the days after a lesson) and to bed at nine-thirty having watched the Larry King interview on the Tavis Smiley, an interesting discussion of this Donald Sterling/L.A. Clippers story.
The two of them have evidently been friends forever and were very comfortable and informative in their discussion of the current state of racism and antisemitism in the country. Gives you hope for the future, not something you can get all that often.