Are They Not?
Sunday. Back from breakfast. I've been in this breakfast routine now for the last going on three years and one might say I'm in a rut. Well, I'm in a rut just for the repetition, but it does start the day off well. I enjoy reading the papers over breakfast, the breakfast itself could be more varied, their menu could use some work if only for all the various forms of cholesterol in their offerings, but when I finish I'm invariably feeling fine, thank you: the head clear, ready to take on the world. Well, observe the world with the occasional photograph, no need to overdo it. The head seems to get fuzzier as the day progresses and I bitch about it at what seems to be great length here, but the mornings, thank you again, are invariably swell.
So I'm sitting here at the computer thinking in this vein there's a day ahead. It was sunny yesterday after the clouds cleared, I suspect we'll have some of the same today (unless I've just jinxed it), so what to do? With a camera, of course, we are going to remain in that particular rut for a while. I have a print or two to run today I promised to a young woman in Mississippi who liked some of my work after seeing it on Facebook, her name the same as mine (at a much younger age), but that's no time or effort, plenty of time left for something else.
And, of course, this is where the imagination stalls. “Something else?” Where have I heard that before? Take a step back, relax, exhale, remember how these things are managed. Loosen the grip, let the mind flitter to something else, set out without expectation and you'll find whatever it is you're supposed to find without effort. Nice Zen stuff, of sorts, if I knew what Zen was about. Buddha knows because Buddha both knows and doesn't know and dances with butterfly steps between the two without stop. Diddly dop. Bop.
Enough of that.
OK, OK. I told you I almost invariably feel fine after breakfast, it just comes out.
Later. To continue my “in a rut” theme I usually set out in the mid to late morning for a walk (with a camera, of course) and that's what I did this morning just after nine, walking in good spirits downtown taking pictures along the way, running into another “hey take my picture” character on Telegraph. Took the pictures and he asked if I could spare a couple of bucks. I often give over a “couple of bucks” when I'm asked, but always fork over a couple of bucks when they've allowed me to take a picture. How could I not? Could I make it five so he could get something to eat? Of course.
A cup of coffee on the patio in front of Peet's (where else?) checking the Kangaroo Paw/Monkey Paw to see how it was growing, then another walk back along a little different route taking a couple of pictures of store fronts and doorways and such, the mood still good. Back now, the sinus-head thing throbbing a bit, but the mind still clear. What to do for the rest of the day now that I'm pooped before noon? Well, why worry? Something, I suspect, will come up.
Later still. OK, a lie down to listen to the radio for an hour, drifting off into some half conscious state without achieving sleep, but feeling better none the less. Debating a run to the supermarket to buy necessary items other than cat food (how did that happen?) but having the usual trouble generating enthusiasm. Why is that? Well, this is hardly the first time.
Whatever they did when they fixed that hiatal hernia fixed any thoughts I have about food from the look of it. From the feel of it. I've been saying I've stopped losing weight and that may be true except I got on the scale this morning and noticed I'd lost another pound or so since, well, when? I could look it up, go back through the journal, but I suspect it's less than a month. My pound a month loss seems to be holding its course. I'm not complaining, there's still a bit of a tire around the waist, but it's one of those little “mini” tires used to tide you over when you get a flat. No complaints. It's hardly out of hand.
Back. I won the supermarket argument, picked up wine (my cheap Merlot was on sale in the single serving four-pack bottles), Swiss cheese (not very tasty, I'm afraid) and orange juice (tasteless, but on sale). I've eaten the cheese with some of the baguette I added to the pile and now I'm thinking of cracking the first of what will undoubtedly be two of the little bottles of Merlot. My, my. These weekends are exciting, are they not?