Don't You Think?
Saturday. A very nice morning, I'd say, although, given the clear sky and the current temperature, I'm sure it's going to get rather warm by the time the afternoon arrives. Still, up with the alarm, the day kicking in smoothly, the attitude just fine (clear eyed, bushy tailed and the like), off to breakfast and back by eight, perhaps an interesting day ahead.
There's a block festival, the Ginza Bazaar, being held this weekend in San Francisco, a matter of taking BART and then a bus that I've photographed in the past. I should go. Feeling good particularly, I should go. I'm curious to see if I will. Another section on ArtAndLife would be nice. I'd think, warm afternoon or no. It's always cooler in San Francisco, is it not?
Later. Warm it is. A walk along the lake passing three pelicans taking a late breakfast, unusual to see three together so close in to shore. A walk by the Capoeira people at their Saturday morning session, a walk to the ATM for cash, a walk then around the loop to the morning café for an ice cream and coffee lunch. A good lunch.
Too warm, I think, to head over to San Francisco. It's reasonably cool here in the apartment, so some guitar and some more cleaning that I startled myself by actually doing yesterday: the old paid bills, the pleas from various causes and, well, junk. No laundry, we'll let the people in the building who work during the week have the laundry room til Monday. A bullet proof rationalization, don't you think? No need whatsoever for second thoughts.
Later still. For all my ongoing bitching and moaning, I've had another good day. No cheese in a while now, we're good with that, some alcohol Thursday night, good to see it didn't seem to strike back, some naps, some slow periods, but basically a clear headed decent energy set of days. Don't ask me how many, the memory is no longer good anymore for that.
I watched a Beck at six that I've seen before in the last six months. Maybe the last three months. Again, the days meld together and it's hard to remember. I believe I'm not alone in this. Anyway, I had no idea who'd done it right up until the end. I recognized many of the scenes, the interplay between the characters, but couldn't recall, again, the man who'd done 'em in. Which is an advantage. I believe I've mentioned this before, I'm pretty sure I've never been good at remembering who done it in movies, TV or books.
So, some time on the guitar until a string broke. It was due anyway, so the guitar has a new set, good for another two or three weeks under my heavy hand. Some progress, though, I'm feeling good about it, so another gold star and pat on the back.
We're good at patting ourself on the back.
Not an uncommon trait in many, I suspect. Some kind of juvenile auto-erotic character about it, don't you think?