Last Few Years
Wednesday. Raining this morning, just a bit, but they're saying rain for the rest of the week. Winter, the holidays, they need rain or snow to be real, do they not? I'm sitting here in the apartment having returned from a good breakfast (pancakes, as it happens) having read the papers with the wall heater now blasting, the day just starting and, although I'm doing the usual introspective nothing happening (but that's alright) routine, I'm feeling just fine.
As an aside, there's a point in “feeling just fine” where I get up out of my chair (or sit down in my chair) and start something. Doesn't have to be anything productive, doesn't have to be something that will one day save the world or put biscuits on the table, just, you know, something of interest that, well, maybe even gets me away from this computer (though I somehow doubt it). I could clean up my artandlife site, the work of maybe an afternoon. The web cam. I could probably get it working again and, if not, order another more modern one with little or no effort. Photographs. Yes, I've mentioned them before. Taking them. Setting up a light or two. Have I mentioned I have lights? All kinds of lights? I have? But we'll leave that for later. It will happen. In that, like the soundness of the dollar, I trust.
Nothing special on line for dinner this evening. I had some sake last night, watched one of the Korean soaps until it became so bad I had to turn it off and go to bed. Go to bed because I was tired, not because of anything in the Korean soap. We'll let the Korean soaps rest for a while, file them with the Japanese soaps that petered out some months back. One day I'll sign up for cable and discover American soaps, although I can't imagine the thought of watching them.
Not much else going on. Mr. Post has hung up his journal “for a while” he said in his latest post. Mr. Post's latest post. I watch my own progress, the ups and downs of keeping a journal. It's too easy to get in a rut, write because you've always written (it seems like always after ten years now, anyway) long after the joy of writing has left. I think I'm still enjoying this, toying with it, wondering what turns it has to take, places to go that I'm subconsciously looking to go but haven't quite found their direction yet. We'll see. How long I last. How long it takes for Mr. Post to return to his “posting” over there in Greece.
Mr. Post, unlike someone else we know, has a life.
Now, now. Let's not be jealous. I'm doing fine, here in Oakland. Any day you can get up, get out of bed and tie your own shoes is a good day in the life, any life, here on the planet earth; this a nugget of enlightenment imparted to me by Mr. N many many years ago. And, I might add, it being Christmas Eve, we are held to speaking the truth.
You don't wear shoes with laces anymore.
Guarantees a good day, wouldn't you think? Shoes without laces? Pretty easy to match the mark from my experience these last few years.