Well Before Ten
Friday. As mentioned, to sleep late, up well after the alarm at eight, off to walk to breakfast on an overcast and cool morning, but one they say will warm up with the sun later with a high in the low seventies. Another good day, in other words, nothing as warm as these last few days, which is good, but warm enough for me. Deedle-dee-dee.
Have no idea what's in store for the day, although I'll make an attempt at a nap. Downtown, I think, they're doing another chalk mural at Frank Ogawa Plaza that should be good for a photograph. Maybe pick up a couple of needed things at the pharmacy. Productive stuff (puff! puff!).
Later. A bus downtown, rather than a nap, thinking I'd get a nice cup of exotic coffee at one or another of the cafés, getting off at the City Center and walking to the bagel shop where I ordered a rye bagel with cream cheese (toasted) and a small cup of coffee, black with raw sugar. Raw sugar will have to make do for “exotic”.
What to do now that I was sitting out at a table in the City Center? The answer, it seems, was a bus back to the apartment to sit in front of the computer and watch one or two things on Netflix (for something like two hours). Still, felt fine, in good fettle, frittering away the time with odd ball entertainment on a computer screen. Is this my idea of a successful day?
Well, you said you felt good, the head clear, the attitude up. Sounds about right for someone who terms adding “raw sugar to coffee” exotic.
Hmm. Not quite what I had in mind when I was talking about all this “future coming together” stuff. Some guitar now, I'd think. Yesterday was a good day for the guitar, two days in the row would be even better.
No pictures downtown?
No pictures downtown.
Evening. The afternoon and now the evening have gone just like that. Nothing on TV, so I continued watching a TV series called Longmire on Netflix. I'd never heard of it. Cowboys and Indians, but current day cowboys and Indians, cell phones set in a classic Wyatt Earp and Marshall Dillon old west head set. Enjoyed it, I have to admit.
Anyway, between sessions on the guitar and Mr. Longmire, I've whittled away the day intending now to start one of the remaining two Maigret mysteries (see if it sucks me in, this one having been written ten years after the four I've now read). Then to sleep. One hopes to sleep. Well before ten.