Sunday. I was on the bus this afternoon heading for Grand Avenue from the University District in Berkeley, part of a long and complicated journey by bus and foot and BART from home to Oakland to Berkeley to Oakland to home looking for pictures, thinking, well, if this were the University of Washington, how would I feel? Just idly thinking, as we passed the student housing and haunts, this didn't mean that much to me, I hadn't attended the school, had no history here, but then I realized, had this been my own school I'd probably feel nostalgic and uncomfortable. This led to thinking I'd probably have the same feeling, this less than comfortable feeling, should I be driving by, say, the old family house in Yonkers, the little house in Seattle, the house we lived in that my father designed in Woodway Park. I might have this same reaction should I pass my uncle's old house, now that it was no longer in the family.
Is this normal? I often feel a nostalgic (and again), not altogether comfortable feeling when I listen to music from the late sixties and seventies. I've just played a side of John Mayall's The Turning Point ("California" and "Room To Move", if you're familiar with them) without apparent damage, but this may be a fluke. Odd. My thought was to try something different to climb out of this mood, something like, well, Prosac. Could it be this last year would have gone more smoothly with a little help from the food group of friendly medicines? I've got a cupboard full of pills, not a problem adding another bottle. Pop one in the morning, my son, feel the sun rise.
Sunday. MRA, by the way, said Photo San Francisco went pretty well. The exhibition was useful, well, somewhat useful, but a chance diversion and meeting later led him to unexpected gold. The Zen of open eyes and quiet mind. MSW recently suggested the same thing: just, you know, keep your eyes open, your mind open and shoulder ready (for a tap).
Since when have you ever kept your eyes open or (for that matter) your mouth shut? Hard to listen when you're jabbering like an idiot. Have you noticed your archives? Miles and miles?
Hmmm, well, yes. I could re-calibrate, I guess, open myself to opportunity. Do you suppose it could be right here before my very eyes? Huh? All this email I've been deleting! Hundreds of messages promising fortune, promising love, promising the selective enlargement of sensitive body parts, could they be all honest offers from trustworthy people who wish to make me rich (laid and credit worthy)? Right here under my feet all along! Respond and all will be well - something about money that needs to be moved out of Africa (and into my pocket), a Russian lady of refinement and tender sensibilities hoping for romance. Is this the secret, it's all been right here on my computer all along? Life and love and happiness, all complements of Microsoft?
Maybe you'd better pull your ear flaps down and keep the jabber. Prosac may be worth a try, better than a bed in a building with a lock on the door.
You think I'm stretching here.