Out The Walls
Thursday. To bed last night, well, I'm not sure, but I think about ten. Up this morning at nine feeling massively fuzzy headed, if that makes sense. OK, a good night's sleep, a long bath before heading out to breakfast hoping my head would come together pretty quick. Not so, but a walk then to the usual place, a walk back after a long hour and more leisurely reading the papers, one or two lone pictures from a bench where I chose to sit and think about art and life. Thinking it would be nice to just sit for a bit, still early morning going on noon fuzzy headed. If that makes sense. It was slow, this morning, very slow. Can't say why.
A letter when I got home from the ocular neurologist summarizing the head MRI scan I had on Friday. They didn't really find anything out of the ordinary, but pointed out a couple of areas that the scan wasn't as clear as they'd like it to be for someone who's had prostate cancer and suggested if a definitive answer were needed a bone scan was in order. OK, sounds like the scan was fine, but I, having had prostate cancer in the past, would benefit from a bone scan.
The language was such I'm encouraged by the result: “No definite clival abnormality, however, if clinically indicated, a bone scan could be evaluated for further evaluation.” I'm not sure the doctor has a choice when she's dealing with a patient who's had prostate cancer in the past and now some double vision suggestive of a possible reoccurrence. Whatever, the bone scan will be done Wednesday and the meeting with the doctor will take place on Friday to put it all to rest. Let us hope.
Later. For eating a large breakfast late in the morning I've been hungry, drove down to pick up a pint of Haagen-Dazs and a 100ml bottle of Jack Daniels, the ice cream for now, the whiskey for later if the mood strikes. I suspect the mood will strike.
Some time on the guitar, maybe forty minutes, a warm up really, back pretty soon to finish out the session. As I said, it's getting better slowly, very slowly, but it is getting better and that seems to be enough.
The head is better, the “fuzziness” - an imperfect term, an imperfect image - but better than “funky”, I suspect. Maybe it's just how you feel some mornings after you get to a certain age. I seem to say that a lot, not sure I really do want to know in this particular case what I'm talking about.
Evening. We've had a shot of the J. D., taking it easy, listening to the news in the background and playing the guitar. The people around me are generally off to work during the day, although I've been keeping the volume to a minimum just in case, figuring I don't need the neighbors upset.
This afternoon, however, having this damned 75 watt amplifier, I turned it up a notch. My, my. Sounds good. I'm thinking of finding a room one of these days, a garage maybe, a park with a plug and really turn it up the way it was meant to sound. What's that other brand they talk about? Marshall? A Marshall amp? Maybe, when I learn how to play this thing, I'll get myself one of those swell two hundred watt tube driven Marshall amps and blow out the walls!