Not Beyond Ten?
Tuesday. I did get to bed last night at a decent hour. I think. Not too late? I couldn't remember yesterday, not sure I remember this morning. Something like yesterday's discovery I'd hung my jacket up in the shirt closet in the bedroom rather than the coat closet in the hallway. I'd obviously gone through the process totally oblivious to the fact I never do that, have never done that now in how many thousands of repetitions? Hard to say. We'll keep an eye on it and note the next occurrence. Unless we forget. To note.
Anyway, up this morning with the alarm, getting out of bed without any problem, wide awake. Must have gotten some sleep last night. To breakfast and back on a clear sky and sunny (gas prices having jumped four cents) morning, off to get my hair cut in another half hour. So the day starts well. I'd say.
Lay off the damned gas prices. This is coming across goofy enough as it is.
Later. A really nice brisk sunny morning, a bus to the ATM on Broadway and then walking on to the City Center for the haircut, debating having it cut short for about a minute in the chair and then giving in. A trim. We'll get a trim and debate again another day. In exactly four weeks, actually.
Again, as said, the morning now approaching noon is a really nice morning and I think I need to take a walk, if only to work off some of the ice cream I ate on the way home. Maybe somewhere other than the morning restaurant as I've now taken care of lunch. (hup)
Later still. So much for walking. An hour's nap and then another hour's nap. Each more than an hour's nap. Real sleep, this time. Tired, but normal need sleep tired, none of this funky whatever stuff I so often write about. Felt good, but I think I will actually note the hour when I get to bed this evening. So I'll remember in the morning. (hup) I guess I just said that. Again. So I'll remember in the morning. Might be more than just the memory going in circles around here.
Such is life. Spent some time adding the years in which the photographs were taken to the titles on earlier artandlife Chinese New Year Parade sections. My first photographs of the parade were taken in 2000. Not all that many, I'm not sure what I was doing that produced so few pictures, perhaps because it was done on film. I guess that's an excuse. The years between 2000 and 2006 are pretty slim and there were none usable but a couple taken in 2009 between 2007 and 2009. Rain? Sloth? Rain, probably. And sloth. A full section for 2006, but I find I don't like them all that much.
It's approaching six and it's guitar and television now through nine, to bed not later than nine-thirty. Hup! I've learned to distrust my hups. Well, maybe not “distrust” so much as to find them irritating. Overused. Something.
Evening. OK, I've gotten in more than enough time on the guitar while watching whatever on television. I received the Johnny Depp The Rum Diary movie today from Netflix, based on Hunter Thompson's first novel that was published well after he'd written Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. I've read it, of course, dear old Thompson. Found it interesting, but wouldn't have read it had it been written by anyone else. I don't think the movie did a lot at the box office, but we'll see. I'll watch it. But again, not go beyond ten. Right? Not beyond ten?