Start Another Day
Tuesday. Up well after the alarm running about an hour late to head out (again on a pretty damned cold morning) to breakfast and back, getting a call from my hair stylist as I was pulling into the garage saying she was ill and could we reschedule? Well, yes, of course. Clears the day, clears the head, plenty of time to go upstairs and take a nap. Which I didn't - take a nap - but that was the thought as I sat there in the car on the phone.
So it's been a good day, a bus downtown to have coffee and a cookie out at a sidewalk table on Washington street, too shady and cold to go to the City Center, a walk over to the Asian Cultural Center to sit by their fountain in the company of two scoops of ice cream in a waffle cone before a walk back to take the bus all the way to the morning café for a raspberry-cheese pasty and coffee, some thought these choices might not be the best way to populate a diet. But just the flicker of a thought, otherwise I'd have long ago done something about it.
Some reasonably coherent thoughts though all this about art, life and the writing: Will it degenerate further? Are we building up a head of steam toward in a dreaded ever faster downward slide into our seventies? Is this damned sinus upper-palate thing going to straighten itself out or is it going to worsen? Will the 49'ers make it to the Superbowl? OK, nothing about the Superbowl, but we were evaluating the others at about the same level of seriousness.
The thought was, well, maybe we're headed up and maybe we're headed down, either or both, one or the other, but whatever way it's going, I'm not sure the direction is written in stone. Why not, you know, assume for the better and make changes as if it all was true? Make changes tomorrow, of course, no need to hurry - procrastination is your friend - and if this is a long way to say we're feeling pretty good this afternoon (for someone on an ice cream cone diet), then it is.
This is not generating a lot of confidence in your sanity.
You draw your opinion, I'll draw mine. Diddle-dee-dine.
Later. Late afternoon, now, heading into the evening, remembering a Maigret runs at six on Tuesdays. Good. Maybe pick up the guitar and take a first whack. Not much to say about the afternoon, read a recently arrived magazine or two, took a long hot bath, vegetated in front of the computer screen. The usual stuff.
Evening. Ah, well. The Maigret was a repeat and I remembered some of it, found it interesting enough to watch it through, none the less. I suspect there's only so many times you can repeat this - watch one through I've seen (however many times) before - but who knows? We're not keeping score except I guess here (oh dear!).
I've been playing guitar, have more guitar to play, we'll get to bed early so we can get up after a good night's sleep in the morning and start another day. Hey.