Of This Block
Wednesday. To bed again last night at a decent hour to arise slowly after the alarm at six, off to breakfast and back on another grey overcast morning. I need to pick up that prescription I ordered at the pharmacy yesterday and then get another Protime blood test at the hospital lab, the two of them tying together rather nicely, as the bus I'd take runs along Broadway from the pharmacy to the lab. We can get it all done by noon, I'd say. Yup. Hup.
Anyway, the attitude good, the head clear, the sinus-upper palate aching a bit, but nothing to really notice or get in the way. Hey. Here in Oakland.
Later. A bus downtown to pick up that prescription, another bus up Broadway to the hospital lab (to then sit for longer than one should to have to sit to wait for someone to stick you with a needle), a bus connecting to another bus back home. Just like that.
Later still. The sun has found its way through the clouds now at just after noon, a walk over to the morning café for lunch - a turkey and Swiss cheese sandwich, ice cream and coffee - smart enough for once to take the second half of the sandwich home with me to have later for dinner. Whatever appetite I have, it only seems to last through half the sandwich, with or without ice cream. Still hard to imagine.
I noticed these as I was passing by Splash Pad Park, so I walked the line of trees taking these pictures. Probably done by someone who sets up in this area at the farmers market on Saturdays, but who knows? Someone took the time to knit the wraps for these trees. I give them credit for the energy required for the task, obsession is a positive sign in the arts, if not necessarily for the aesthetics. Whatever that implies. Yarn bombing, ya gotta like it, adorning trees here in Oakland.
So, early afternoon. One last long session on the guitar today to prepare for tomorrow's lesson. We'll play along with the music today, see if anything I'm able to play matches the recording. You never know, they say there's always a first time for everything.
Evening. A short nap feeling a little rocky, but it passed quickly, not really worth noting. A go through or two on the guitar, a bath while listening to the news playing in the living room while relaxing in the tub. It's approaching six, the Italian police procedural is another Don Mateo, no hope for the lost in that, so we'll see what else we can play along with into the evening.
Later in the evening. OK, there's an Australian police procedural that follows Don Mateo that I'd understand better if it were subtitled, but it's interesting enough to keep my attention. I suspect I'm describing a chasm that's developed between me and the current younger generational culture than any particular sensibility on my part, but the Australian thing ultimately holds my interest. Clunky, but with its moments. Real life distorted on steroids. Or hallucinogens. Or something.
So what does all that mean?
A good two hours on the guitar. Anything that results in a good two hours on the guitar is OK at this end of this block.