Tuesday. Breakfast at the usual cafe eating the usual breakfast reading the usual paper, back to spend a 4th of July on the computer manipulating photographs before I head down to Jack London Square later this afternoon for the fireworks and the crowds and the food and the beer. Maybe heading down to Jack London Square later this afternoon - one must be honest here - for fireworks and crowds and food: beer I have in the refrigerator here.
So, another dead end day and you're going to bitch about it?
Actually not. You could interpret my “usual cafe, usual breakfast, usual paper” bleat as a complaint, except I felt reasonably good throughout, driving back from breakfast with my eye out for potential pictures, walking back to the same cafe later around noon for lunch after which I bought a copy of a Netsuke book I've been thinking about buying at the used book store, my head clearer, my aching head still aching, but the aching now seemingly lodged in an ever shrinking circle. At least that's the story I tell myself. Hard to say if it's fiction or not. Maybe the time it takes to detox from work needs weeks and not days to accomplish? Probably. I suppose. So many things I'd like to do around here that never get done because I tell myself I don't have the time (between naps) to get them done. Some of them I'll never do, not even in a goody two shoes fantasy world, but some of them I would.
Later. I did drive downtown and found a parking place near Jack London Square around six. I spent three hours walking through the crowd, shooting some miserable number of thoroughly forgettable pictures and deciding to return home about a half an hour before the fireworks were due to start. I did the same thing last year. I could carp about it, but it just means I need to find something else to do on a 4th of July. Interesting scene, though, lots of interesting faces, but I suspect I'm trying to tell myself something if I've cut out twice now before the fireworks started. Happy Birthday, anyway, USA.