We Can Hold Out
Tuesday. Turned off the alarm this morning and slept in for an additional forty-five minutes. Still a bit rocky. To bed and to sleep before ten, so I got in a good eight hours, but this tiredness thing is still with me, albeit perhaps better. I think. Such is life. I guess. We're winging it here, crying flying in circles.
Still, another good day outside with the sun. Home from breakfast by eight-thirty only to lie down again for another hour, up now with (one hopes) mischief ahead. Mild thoughts, in other words, of getting out, maybe going downtown and shooting some pictures. Something more energetic than lethargic to begin the week.
Later. An example maybe of this “tiredness” thing. I've used the phrase “lay down” as in to “lay myself down” for a nap in the last few months. It's not correct, of course, something I've known since forever, but haven't been willing to check to see what this lapse of memory was about. In many instances I've changed the wording to avoid using the “lay down” phrase to, again, avoid going through the effort to check it out. But I've also misused it more than once knowing I should check. But haven't. Didn't.
You lay an object down, but you don't lay yourself down, you lie down instead. Beginning English. Embarrassing, more so than you may know, but again a sign of sloth brought on by whatever this tiredness this thing is about. Just sayin'. No excuse. I'll take the abuse.
Later still. A bus downtown at eleven to have a cup of coffee out in the City Center, not many people about, the stage and chairs set up for a concert or a presentation of some kind. They usually have a band on Wednesdays at noon, so this may well have been for something else.
I tried a picture or two of the chairs and their shadows, not really getting an angle that was quite right (that didn't include my own shadow). Still, I did get up, walk over to the chairs and try a few shots. So good. Happy there's an interest in taking pictures, if not all the wheels and gears to back it up. A bit of the double vision, the sinus-upper palate thing doing its thing, although the overall direction seemed to be good.
Home now after noon, feeling better. The mornings, the mornings. They're turning me into a cranky old turnip that does nothing but carp. Do turnips carp? I guess they do, in Oakland.
Even later still. A “hobble” down the way to the usual café for an egg salad sandwich and iced tea, a little melon on the side. It wasn't a “hobble”, still an amble as near as I can tell, but we're wondering if the day won't come when hobble isn't the word. I know: bitch, bitch. Still, a picture or two at the while columns. I find it hard to pass up someone playing an instrument. Another picture on the way back home.
Otherwise what? A nice day out there, people running and, well, travelling around the lake on a Tuesday in August. Whatever cards the wider world game may be dealing there are still people enjoying themselves. Odd to hear myself say “running” is a way to enjoy yourself - those years in the army are still in mind - but I'm sure it's true. Running for them, walking for me. Deedle-dee-dee.
We obviously relax with the guitar for the rest of the evening. The fingertips have been quite sore these last few weeks, the callouses I thought set in place after that first month seem to have started getting harder and larger again, so I guess there's more to making them than I first thought. Still, they're not tearing, they're not doing more than low level stinging when I play, so we can hold out.