Thursday. I mentioned yesterday finished in a kind of funk, the extremely dry mouth returning for yet another session. I need to find out why that's happening. The dental hygienist commented on it last week when she was cleaning my teeth, often a reaction to a prescription drug of some kind. So we'll take a look at that. Many things to take a look at, I'm thinking.
To bed last night at ten, up this morning at six with the alarm, getting up many times to take a pee. I mentioned the dry mouth? I'm not sure drinking all that water did it any good, but it had predicable results while I was sleeping.
So the morning is nice: the air rain washed and clear, the sun bright, the temperature crisp enough to get your attention without being particularly cold. I have a haircut appointment at ten, need to get out the door for that pretty quickly, and we've delayed our get together from Friday at Roy's to Saturday when Mr. S's band will be playing in San Francisco. Sounds good. There's an event I've been invited to photograph in San Francisco Saturday at noon, so the day will be full. Mr. E has volunteered to drive for the evening, so no pressure on me. Deedle-dee-dee. If that's what we call pressure these days.
Later. I diddled about a bit longer than I realized, but was able to get out and catch a bus downtown for the haircut, a walk back to the apartment taking care of the walking for the day, which is good, as it was starting to rain as I reached my building before noon. A bit funky as mentioned this morning, but what else is new? We'll start on the guitar, see if I can play some of the chords they're listing in the sheet music I downloaded along with the Sunshine of Your Love riff.
Nothing in the way of pictures walking back, the sky overcast looking and then acting like rain. Sprinkles, anyway, we have an afternoon to explore all that ahead. I have to admit, if I had a truck like this one, I'd have it similarly painted but without the added comments, smears and dirt. Of course if your truck is used in selling, say, office supplies to large companies, cosmetics to boutiques, electric chairs to local prisons, your customers might not like your idea of art. Pizzas, maybe? Delivering to the hoi polloi? People like me? Maybe there are reasons you don't see all that many of these paint jobs on delivery trucks and I'm forgetting the obvious reasons why. Part of growing up is being schooled to conform to the why's. Me-oh-my's.
Does this mean we're in a good mood or your head is not quite screwed on tight?
It means whatever it means here in Oakland, I'm afraid. Part of keeping a journal, I suspect, is trying to figure what this kind of spouting is about.
Later still. A nap for about an hour earlier this afternoon, no rain out there, but overcast. Grey and overcast. More than enough time on the guitar going back and forth on the new riff. Not a big deal, this thing, all of eighteen notes played at the beginning of the song, although I notice my instructor has moved them down the neck. I guess we're not ready for the high notes way up there where the frets are closer together and all the guitar heros hang out so he's moved them to more familiar territory. Well, we digress. Again. And again.
So good. I have been unhappy with both the amount of time I've been spending practicing and not playing in the way the lesson has been laid out. You always get upset with practicing now and again, but the idea is to do it because you want to do it as you have some clever or not so clever plan in mind. My introduction as a youngster was, well, here's a piano kid, this is your teacher, learn to play. Well, OK. I guess. Later in grade school I switched to the clarinet. Did that for two or three years, was able to play a bit of this and that. Listlessly, as I recall, tunes that didn't have a positive effect. Maybe if I'd been playing rock and roll? Rock and roll on the clarinet? The sax, maybe, but the clarinet? Benny Goodman doing Rock Around the Clock?
I believe the phrase is “we digress”.
On an overcast Thursday in the month of March? Maybe. Maybe not.