Before Bugging Out
Friday. An Elementary rerun last night, so to sleep at a decent hour to get up without the alarm at seven on another sunny, but cold morning. Colder? No, but not all that much warmer, either, at least in the early hours. They're still saying seventy degrees over the weekend, so no complaining, just, you know, mentioning the fact.
The guitar lesson coming up at ten-thirty, we're ready, at least with the finger picking exercise. Yesterday's I'm stuck in a rut thoughts apply to the guitar. It probably needs a change, for me to do something different. Learn new songs on my own as I continue with the weekly exercises. Not the first time I've had this thought. It solves the problem of the moment, maybe, and if not, then we'll try another approach. We're not even close to giving up on the guitar.
Later. The temperature, as we approached noon, was just fine, thank you, and we're enjoying the afternoon, albeit with the head floating along in the clouds. Which means?
Well, I stumbled along through the guitar lesson showing no talent or class in the process, but that's just another of my obstacles: to not get upset, all the energy in these upsets coming from days long ago when I learned to dread practicing the piano and then later the clarinet. Fifty years ago. I know, not uncommon, stumbling over stuff you did as a kid, but fifty years?
Back home after the lesson to head for somewhere, “somewhere” as precise as I could make it as I was going out the door. The downtown bus was running ten minutes late when I arrived at the stop and I didn't want to wait, but then didn't want to walk to the morning café either. I was hungry, but couldn't think of anything I was willing to eat. The usual complaint.
So a walk toward the morning café, after deciding it was better than waiting, only to run into the bus at the next stop farther on. OK. Decisions. (I mentioned the head has been floating throughout the morning?) Got on the bus, got off the bus at the City Center, walked around and about at the noon hour thinking “did I want to eat something they served at this restaurant or that café”, finally looking at my watch to check the time for the bus, heading then to a Broadway stop arriving just as the bus was pulling up. Hup.
Anyway, all the way to the morning café (the place for which we'd originally set out) to have a cookie, ice cream and coffee before walking back to the apartment, all the while the head floating along above me below the clouds. I'm getting better at walking along with a floating head, the world a pale shadow outside, occasionally wondering if a passing camera thief buff might take notice.
Your head was far from altogether of out it. I was floating along taking notes, as you may recall.
True, we're exaggerating, although I'm not so sure after my lesson this morning our guitar teacher would agree. The babbling, for one thing, the inability to pluck the strings.
Later still. A nap, another dose of the pain meds, another nap, up to go over to the drive-in for a chicken sandwich. I skip dinner about half the time unless you count the occasional microwaved cup of vegetables or the bowl of air popped popcorn, but today I was hungry. Even I, with my weird (don't let your children develop one of these) appetites, even I get hungry enough to eat their version of a chicken sandwich, although there's often a certain queasy aftertaste when it's gone down.
Evening. The head, floating above the body most of the day, is back in place. The sinus-upper palate is also coming into line, perhaps the result of that extra dose of meds. Not uncommon, to have a clear headed evening, maybe my iffy day was influenced by the three shots I'd had last night, the first one starting at five and the last one finishing around seven, the head clear by eight, no thought about or symptoms thereafter. Unless the earlier morning and afternoon fog was caused by those three shots of Jack Daniels last night.
I guess it could.
What's the solution?
A better brand of bourbon?
What I've termed the odd Wallandar series ran again at six, three Fridays now in a row, the Wallandar character somewhat more sympathetic than he was in the last two. He's a wreck, his supporting characters recognize he's a wreck, but he keeps on bouncing off the walls, catching his criminals and solving the cases. I guess there's an audience that sympathizes with this guy as the series is evidently quite popular. They've made enough movies and programs based on the character, but this one series played effectively by this one actor leaves me less than sympathetic (yet I watch it straight through).
I'm not exactly certain why any of this is relevant.
It would be interesting to write it out, go through my thinking, see if I can't find where whatever energy it's creating is coming from. It wouldn't have all that much to do with the program, but more to do with the various ways it's been able to push my buttons. What is it about his failings, or my perception of his failings, that puts me off?
But I won't. At least not this evening. I've gotten in quite a bit of time on the guitar at this point, we'll see how we continue before bugging out.