Best Not To Cross
Monday. Up at six, off to breakfast and back at eight to review and post yesterday's entry. What was I thinking? I'm starting to understand we really have reached a dead end here and I'm only now starting to see it. Wow. Then again, maybe the fuzzy head is beginning to clear and so I'm more able to perceive the damage, although the writing has remained on the scrap heap. Still, first you recognize the problem and then you make changes to effect a cure. It's not too early in the morning for rationalization.
Subject, verb, predicate.
And that's it?
One paragraph. At least it's short. Any necessary last minute editing tomorrow won't take much effort. Might brighten my outlook.
Later. A nap and then another nap, feeling fine, I just, you know, wanted to take two naps. A walk out along the lake thinking I'd, well, I wasn't quite sure what I was thinking, so I returned to the apartment. Took that second nap. Did a reboot.
Another walk, this time to lunch, a walk to the morning café for ice cream and coffee. Couldn't think of a single thing I otherwise wanted to eat, maybe just wanted to get out of the apartment. Which is fine.
Walking home I found myself sitting in the sun on a bench overlooking the lake, the body making a left when it came to the turn, walked to the bench and sat itself down. Didn't ask for advice. The afternoon nice, a bright sun, other people populating the other benches, nothing staring me in the face suggesting I take its picture. Still, sitting there, felt pretty good, wondering if I wasn't recognizing for the first time little shifts in my perception that I'd have missed in the past, shifts of contentment.
Back along the lake taking one or two pictures, none I haven't taken a hundred times before, but interesting for the framing and the light. You're always a beginner in this business: a beginner photographer, a beginner in life. Some of us are slower to learn than others.
Back now at three to finish and finally post yesterday's entry. There's only so much you can do before you throw in the towel. Some guitar now, we did well yesterday, got into finger picking chords, chords that are simultaneously plucked instead of strummed with a pick. My fingertips have let me know we're into this new territory, suggesting I've had enough for the day and we should start again tomorrow.
Later still. The head is clear, the sinuses are behaving and I'm sitting here tapping my foot. I've never liked foot tapping, seems more a nervous tick, not something you'd want to broadcast to the world, but it does usually mean things are tight, together, eyes bright and other good stuff, so we're with it for the moment and on a roll.
Don't piss off any Fates who may be in the neighborhood! You remember the last time you pissed one off. Right?
Evening. Another Don Matteo at six. If I watched it, of course, I'd have something I could bitch about (at length), but we'll make do with whatever else I can find, if anything, and get in more time on the guitar. Can't let this foot tapping session go to waste, fingertips be damned, although foot tapping doesn't lend itself to sitting still while playing. Maybe shift gears and spend the time learning Jumpin’ Jack Flash.
Not to the guy who lives on the floor below. Cool dude, but there are some lines it's best not to cross.