Friday. OK, the head is clear. This is good. We've had a couple of days on the new dosage of the old pill and perhaps we're seeing a change for the better? Could be. I'm easy. Tell me it's true. Yesterday was a little funky, but nothing like I was experiencing at the beginning of this week. Cross the fingers. Lick the eyebrows. Screw the head on straight. Back from breakfast having stopped by the hospital on the way for the monthly “how thin is my blood?” test. Sometimes it's too thin. Sometimes it's too thick. Most times it's just right, diddle-dee-dite.
Later. A trip over to San Francisco on BART, some thought to finally take in the Frida Khalo show at SFMOMA, but I got off at Embarcadero instead and took a walk around the area during the noon hour. Not the best of timing, maybe, the noon hour, although I stumbled across an area between buildings on Market where an electric Country rock band was playing, the musicians pretty close to my age. I sat for thirty minutes at a table nursing a cup of coffee. They were pretty good. At one of the benches four women about the age of the members of the band were dancing to the music and talking; made me think of women - the band members’ girl friends and “old ladies” - in the old days in the music business. “Old ladies.” Shit. Did I say that? Maybe some things never change. Maybe there are always ladies with a band even at our age. But I tread into dangerous territory here.
“Old ladies” indeed. What was your name?
Back to BART, a train pulling in just as I arrived: crowded, but with a seat. Perfect timing. I looked at my watch and thought I should arrive at the Oakland 12th Street station just as the bus I would normally take was due to arrive. The bus is usually late, but you can never tell and the train did indeed arrive at the 12th Street station with maybe a minute to spare so I decided to stay on the train and get off at the 19th Street station five blocks down thinking it would give me a little more time just in case. I indeed needed that minute as I popped up on the street just as the bus arrived. How's that for Friday excitement?
And this is of interest to whom?
Well it brought back this morning's drive from the hospital to the café. Oakland is famous for stopping you at every traffic light. I mean every traffic light. The only synchronized traffic lights in the city are along Broadway and they're synchronized to stop you at each and every light in order to discourage traffic along the main drag. Driving from the hospital this morning to breakfast, as I've done many times in the past, I made every light, the first time this has happened in maybe fourteen years driving. Amazing. No, really. Like the adrenalin rush of rolling sevens a dozen times in a row with a pair of dice. Every damned light, something like ten of them turning green as I approached. Zip! I mean ZIP! I was in shock. I was amazed.
And that's noteworthy?
You have no idea, until you've driven in Oakland, how utterly unimaginable that drive was this morning. Makes you believe there's a perverse god in heaven who will give you just a glimpse of who you are to let you know who's in control and how thoroughly she's got you in her vice.
God's a woman?
God's a woman and let me tell you she's pissed at Oakland.