Fretting About It
Sunday. Up at eight-thirty this morning and then to breakfast, back now before eleven. Up later than usual last night, but not all that later after a bit of sake and some late night music to satisfy the spirit and slip into bed feeling, well, ready to sleep. Yes, I went on a sake run, stood in an interminable line for what seemed like forever at the supermarket, waiting to pay for three necessary items: two single serving bottles of sake and a package of swiss cheese.
Both on the to be avoided list for we of the prone to ocular migraines set, but so far the day has gone without incident. Three slices of cheese on two pieces of bread for dinner, how much can that hurt? Particularly when you're hungry. Rationalizations here on a Sunday morning, so easy to do, so comfortably familiar and intimate.
More Chinatown Street Fest photographs this afternoon, I think, but perhaps after a nap. For the short period I was shooting yesterday more than a few of the photographs seem to have turned out. Still, getting them is not unlike pulling teeth.
Then there's the Eat Real thing at Jack London Square. Maybe skip that and check what they're up to at The Last Sunday Festival in Berkeley along Telegraph instead? Take the bus from the downtown after shooting the Street Fest, see what's what? If my head is still glued together, if the back doesn't hurt. Limping along here in Oakland. Fret, fret, fret.
Later. Again, sore, but lots of walking through Chinatown getting enough pictures I think to create another section on artandlife, something I'll finish later tonight or tomorrow in the morning. Another walk through City Center (to sit at a table drinking a lemonade - tired, I was, and thirsty) and then on through Frank Ogawa Plaza in front of City Hall to discover there'd been another rally earlier in the day, something about global warming and throwing the oil companies under a bus, both of them sentiments to warm the heart.
It looks as if they had quite a turn out, I'd caught a glimpse of them breaking as I passed earlier on my way to Chinatown on the bus. Happy to see anything happening in a political culture where all seem to be asleep but for the wackos who're scrambling to turn us towards something I don't care to think about. The world in the thirties had similar people up to similar stuff.
So, sake last night, sleeping in a little later this morning, the head clear, the muscles sore, but in the good way sore, the journal entry winding up. And pictures in the can. We shall address our guitar in a minute after taking our set of late afternoon pills and unguents. Where would we be without our pills and unguents? And sitting here on a late Sunday afternoon fretting about it?