I Would Think So
Sunday. Again, warm last night, but not overly warm with the windows open; cool and overcast this morning for the drive down the way to the usual place for breakfast, home now, the weather people saying the sun will break through by about noon. Nice.
Today I have many things to do, things that should have been done weeks ago, and I will be curious by the time we reach the last paragraph if I've gotten any of them done. The head feels pretty good, the aching whatever from yesterday pretty much gone, the vertigo like symptoms not in evidence, which is the component of the sinus-head thing that really counts. Hi, ho. Life on idle, full speed ahead idle, no traction-interaction with the wheels.
I think you lost us there, my bucko.
As I said, the day is cloudy, the air is cool, Ms. Emmy is curled up under the reading lamp on the bed and life is swell. Coherence has no particular interest at the moment as the rent is paid, the larder is full and there's still a picture or two out there to be found. Success in life is an ability to invent an alternate life with its own rules and soft fluffy clouds, avoiding any day to day messiness or need to notice or remember that it sometimes gets cold outside.
Get off it.
Where indeed did that come from? Perhaps the aching head-sinus thing buzzes you just far enough out of your rut now and again to notice how much time is spent avoiding, well, the messiness that surrounds. No suggestion here I'm any more immune than anyone else, but boy-howdy, if lives are measured by any of the yardsticks people in the measuring business describe, I for one, who've pretty much sneaked through undetected, would undoubtedly be fucked come judgement.
What did you do, Mr. Man, in your life, now that you've returned to the womb and come up before us again? Have you done any better than the last time around? Well, I skated by, took a short cut or two, played a fiddle while others, um, burned. Is that an adequate answer? Do I have to go back and live through another round? As a toad? As a stock broker? As another techie cooked in the corporate stew? Isn't the idea to get forever off of the wheel? Hard to say, I must admit. Maybe send another check to the Starving African Children Fund; nothing too large, just enough to show a proper interest without getting involved.
Jesus, slow down. Where's this coming from?
I don't know. I'm not upset, I'm just floating a bit here as if on a cloud. Maybe a way to avoid those things I talked about earlier, those things I've been putting off now for too long. You ramble on and pretty quick the day is gone and it's time for another breakfast down at the usual place, maybe a couple of eggs over easy on whole wheat toast. A toast to whole wheat toast and the afternoon is gone.
Later. A call from Mr. H, a trip over to meet the usual crew at the SFMOMA café at two, a late lunch then at Chevy's down the way, a walk to the Metreon to watch Hancock. I'd seen the trailer and thought, at the time, an interesting conceit, but not something I'd normally go to see at a theater, maybe rent it later, maybe not watch it at all. It was better than I was expecting and I'll recommend it as being, well, better than many of the “beings who jump over buildings” flicks. Is that wishy-washy enough? I would think so.