And About Stuff
Sunday. I spent quite a bit of time yesterday going through the photographs taken at the Lunar New Year Parade. It seems I have more than enough to put together two pages for artandlife which I will do today and tomorrow. So good. I could stretch it to three, but best not. Keep up an illusion of competence. A delusion of competence.
A nice morning, the sun shining. They're saying rain starting tomorrow for another couple of days and then clearing for the rest of the week. We can go with that, not that we have a choice. The weather, after all.
Up this morning with the alarm at six not knowing, really, how many hours or how good the sleep I may have gotten last night. There's always a nap later if needed. Nice to have that option. To breakfast and back, more work on the photographs pretty much finishing them up. Some of them are quite nice.
Later. A nap. Well, a semi-conscious lie down on the bed for an hour. Felt good. Sleep might have been better. Up to work on the new artandlife pages (hup! hup!). Takes time, these pages, let me tell you. Still, they're done and I'm tired. A walk down to the morning restaurant to have a piece of cake and a cup of coffee, back now before four, even more tired. Probably all that scooting about in the rain yesterday, the news crawling slowly through the nerves finally reaching the brain. Or something like that.
So, tired, still haven't spent time with the guitar. You'd think being tired wouldn't affect sitting down with a guitar, but it obviously does. Maybe take that back: it's obvious to everyone it would and it does.
I stuck my head into the book store on the way back from my late lunch and found a book section filled with old rock and roll guitar song books. I have guitar books - the Beatles, Clapton, Young and others - I don't need another one (or two or three) until I've played through the ones I already have and gotten a song or two down by heart. (Most of them aren't all that difficult for a beginner to play. Takes time, though. You need to play them over and over.) So I didn't bring any books back. I should get a gold star for that and I'd ask for one if I weren't so pooped.
So how pooped is pooped?
Not so much sleepy pooped as sore-muscle-foggy-headed pooped. There are, I'm discovering as I grow older, gradations. They kick in for a while and then they leave. I suspect they visit more often as time goes along, better get going with what I want to get done now before I decide I've had enough of all of this out and about stuff.