The sun is up because I can see it through the window. Some blue sky too, but mostly clouds. They say more rain. It's winter, it's the solstice, there are supposed to be clouds and it is supposed to rain, what with El Niño and the Pacific Ocean and winter. Still, things are OK. The last two or three days of funky aches and pains are taking a breather, so I'm sitting here relatively clear headed saying let's get on with it, let's hit the ground running, but, um, after a nap. Approaching the end of week five and I'm still alive (no jive) and death has not arrived, although it's in the next room, waiting. So come in on the beat and play! (But after my nap, OK?) Another day. In Oakland.
I've been wondering if returning to work after next week is a good idea, what with the body dumb and dragging. This morning brings a better attitude, this morning I'd like to think about something more enlightening than the introspective moi and, I don't know, donate money to an orphanage, adopt a cause, pet a cat, shoot a picture. (This is like priming a pump or starting a car - "rawwrr, rawwrr, rawwrr" - it takes a light touch. You exhort yourself, looking for a weakness in your armor, looking to turn over your stone at the right moment to let the sun inside and scatter the little animals. Or am I not making sense? A short poem may be instructive, read long ago on the wall of a toilet in a rock and roll establishment: "Here I sit with a broken heart, took a hand full of pills and my hog won't start."
Later. Sky clear, sun shining, another short walk this afternoon to sit in the sun and drink a cup of coffee. Not much energy to do anything else, I write this in pieces, a sentence here, a sentence there, not too picky when it comes to coherence. I'll read it one day when I have my wits again. As I get older, I realize there will come a time when I will not get my wits again. You hope that day isn't today, you hope that day isn't tomorrow. Maybe on a summer solstice looking out over a warm ocean, rum drink in hand, feet up, listening to the wind and the woman who is plying my tummy with sun tan lotion and promises.