Wednesday. So this crap I've been whining about pretty much cleared itself up last night well before I changed the dosage on one of the little pills as suggested by the doctor. Maybe that's the way it will go: some days will be crap so best to have a fall back routine for crap - take long baths, drink better sake, watch old DVD wrestling movies - and not to worry. If you're going to go, go with a smile. Now, if the lesser dosage pill actually makes things even better, then I say gooder than good, but I have a hunch, when you get to a certain age after a life of free living and debauchery, well, you inherit a certain earned level of crappiness and you live with it.
You seem to be talking to hear yourself talk.
So who else could be listening?
That was written last night before a full realization of how much better I really did feel, a veritable one hundred eighty degree turn in outlook and attitude. Interesting to experience. What I'll do with it today (and it seems to be holding) I don't know, but heading for bed early last night I was amazed at how “good” I really felt and how freaked I'd been not twelve hours before. Guys, after all, don't call their doctors unless a bone is showing or their kid has developed a cough.
I know. Back from breakfast now at nine, the morning overcast and cool, the sun expected before noon when the temperatures are projected to reach the nineties inland, something in the mid-seventies here. Perfect weather, in other words, sitting at the computer with this much appreciated new attitude. What to do with it today before I forget how depressed I was yesterday and lose the appreciation I feel with the world? A trip up the coast with a camera? This weekend? Starting say tomorrow?
You've a lunch scheduled with an attractive group of the not so usual crew tomorrow at noon.
Indeed, but the rest of the week seems clear.
Later. I set out at eleven thinking I needed to get out of the house, ended up in downtown Oakland, then on BART to San Francisco getting off at Montgomery Street thinking, well, why not go see the Frida Kahlo show at SFMOMA, learning in the process SFMOMA is closed Wednesdays. OK, no pottery broken, a walk down the way to see what the SF CAMERAWORK gallery was about, ponying up the two dollar senior ticket to view maybe a hundred or so photographs. They are there more for their history than their, um, impact, I was thinking, but nothing wrong with that and anyway, no one has asked me for my opinion. One or two interesting images, but I find there are always one or two interesting images.
Back to Oakland, a walk back to the apartment. I took it easy, stopped once or twice to watch people's faces as they passed me by, but if I were to walk three hours every day as I did today I'd become, well, positively insufferable.
And you are now?
I am a negatively insufferable old crock of a photographer who happens to have an online journal.