Saturday. A curious day, curious in that it seemed like a silent movie without a piano: a trip on the bus downtown to catch another bus to Telegraph Avenue near U.C. Berkeley, all with the head in a not quite, but close to funky somewhat contented fog, packing a camera and a new over the shoulder bag filled with necessary items; lunch sitting at a window table in a busy corner step up to the counter and place your order sandwich shop near a table with a young, tall, soda straw thin woman who's elaborate black ink on white skin tattoo showed just above her buttocks, clearly revealed by the low riding pants and the high riding top (worth, I thought, a silent movie quick albeit desultory photograph); then a walk down to the BART station nearby on Shattuck to see what was playing at the various theaters scattered throughout the area.
I wasn't up for a movie (I knew that, I guess, going in), Academy Awards ceremony on Sunday or not, so I took the 40L bus back toward Oakland, getting off to walk the last mile or so home to the apartment. Such is life here on a Saturday. I do feel better this evening after a couple glasses of wine: the head, teeth and sinuses no longer aching (why do they usually ache in the mornings, but not in the evenings, with or without the wine?). It is a weekend, after all. It is a Saturday. Life is good, but, you know, weird: a silent movie without the piano.
Sunday. OK. We're learning about having cases of wine in your closet. You open a bottle and who would have thought, by the time the evening is gone the bottle is empty and the next day, a Sunday, becomes a day to recover. Peanut butter and crackers, orange juice and Coca Cola: the morning in bed with the newspaper absorbed in reading stories I no longer remember two hours later. One more day like today and I'm getting rid of the wine in the closet cause life is too short to lose a valuable Sunday.
You say you drank a bottle of wine causing you to stay in bed most of the next day? When's the last time you spent a day in bed, reading, drinking Coca Cola? That doesn't sound so bad. Some might say traditional Sunday behavior.
I don't remember that drinking a bottle of wine when I was younger had any different outcome. It isn't just growing older, it's drinking a lot of wine when you were planning on doing something other than lie in bed all the next day or sit gazing stupidly in front of a computer screen. I've got a funky enough head as it is with the aching gums and the rest, I don't need wine or sake to come between me and something approximating reality. Here in Oakland.Awwww....