Not A Problem
Wednesday. A decent night's sleep, one or two pangs from the pulled chest muscle, but it's clearly on its last legs, up without fighting the alarm, off to breakfast and back on a clear, sunny morning, clearly headed for an overly warm afternoon. It's August, it's supposed to do this.
I have an appointment with the pulmonary doctor early this afternoon, the last one in some time, one hopes, in our pulmonary doctor affair. The lungs have seemed clear, I don't notice them anyway, and I'm assuming I can stop taking whatever the pill is he's prescribed and I've been taking over these last two years. Fewer pills, fewer mistakes when popping them come to mind.
I didn't do anything to keep up my momentum yesterday in putting the place in order, that ocular thing getting in the way (and it did get in the way), but that's no reason to stop. I mentioned there are things to be done in the bedroom and today they will get done. Unless, but there's always an “unless”, only important if you let it win the argument.
So, forward. I didn't mention going by the site of the chalk mural at 14th and Broadway on Monday, but I did and it was gone, the area washed and scrubbed. It had its two days in the sun, part of its attraction, part of its idea, I suspect: the ephemeral nature of all political speech. But. So. The day ahead. Let's see if it takes on any forms I haven't repeated now a thousand times a thousand in the past.
And if it did?
Probably scare me witless. Speechless. Dumb.
Later. A walk out the door to cross the street by the lake. Should I take a bus downtown, maybe see what band is playing at noon in the City Center? No. A walk along the lake and then back to the apartment? No. So back to the apartment to move some things around, pack sweaters and clothes into two large, but empty (after the Goodwill run) storage boxes that are now up on the shelf in the closet and then a nap. Best to keep one's priorities straight.
Progress before heading over to the pulmonary doctor appointment, a quick run to his office and then back, sitting here now thinking, well, the mouth seems a bit dry, a head a little funny in ways it's been in the past (any chance of another ocular migraine?). The hell with it, another nap is in order, we see how this overly warm (eighty-nine degrees in the shade it says on the web) afternoon plays out, now that it's two-thirty and I've at least made some progress on the bedroom. The day is not over (he said).
Later still. A funky nap. No ocular this or that, but a odd sort of nap. Up coming together reasonably quickly, off to take a short walk along the lake debating what I might like to eat. I'm hungry, shouldn't be a problem. Right? I'll go shopping tomorrow after my guitar lesson, restock the larder, there's nothing out there commercially available I want to eat, more me than any comment on this fast food neighborhood of mine.
Is it a fast food neighborhood?
Actually not. I have Korean, Thai, Indian, Italian, two sushi emporiums and a wine bar at my immediate disposal, not to mention the various burger, chicken and pizza purveyors that are held is less regard. I can't really get my head around any of them. Or my stomach, which is the problem. It's been acting out like this now for some time.
Evening. No pictures today. The gas prices changed, so I snapped pictures of the gas sign when I left the restaurant this morning. I've carried the camera whenever I've gone out, but not a shot. Happens. I'm forgiven. Too easily forgiven? Not a problem.