So Good News
Friday. To bed last night quite early after eight, up this morning before the alarm, off and back from breakfast. We have sun this morning with rain forecast for the Oakland Marathon weekend ahead. We'll see. I typically just walk down my street to photograph the runners as they pass, maybe it will be wet, maybe it won't, but the runners will be running in any case, I'd expect, running in the rain not being life threatening or anything. A younger photographer would be on hand, maybe even an older one who lives just up the hill. Maybe.
Later. A bus downtown to pick up a prescription at the pharmacy and then have a caramel coffee in the Rotunda building. A walk then back home to the apartment. The brain a little fragmented I'd have to say. Little things, passing what I thought was a twenty when it was a ten to pay for breakfast, failing somehow to check. A little of this, a little of that. Small lapses, still not many, but enough to let you know you're no longer quite where you once were, anymore, and further wonder how quickly such things progress. No real red flags, but flags none the less.
Later still. So a later morning nap that lasted into the early afternoon, one of those into and out of sleep things that just decided, whatever sleep I may have gotten last night, to go on and on. And a bit of an ocular migraine, I'm afraid. Hard to say how strong when it happens as you're napping, although I'm sure its onset was one of the reasons I decided to lie down. Reality just takes a step aside and the way you think about things takes on a, um, “unique”character. And then you wake up and the world is pretty much the way it was when you started.
I mentioned I'd thought to head out for some sake last night, decided against it - not a hard decision, more just thinking out loud - but what would I have blamed this thing on had I indeed gone out and had one or two? I had a caramel coffee at the Rotunda building earlier, I assume there was some chocolate in it, but not much chocolate in it, chocolate being on the list. A plain waffle with sliced strawberries and banana on top, none of them on the list. A walk back from the downtown, I doubt that's relevant, exercise, after all. A good night's sleep doesn't count. I could go on. I usually do.
I did make a commitment to meet some of the usual crew in San Francisco at six. Is Guinness the best thing to be drinking in the city, taking the train and then a drive on home the best of plans? If I got out more, talked with actual people more often, I might think about cancelling. But I don't get out more often anymore. Then again, then again: we'll know how it ends tomorrow.
I learn old friend Wilson has gone under the knife this morning to ease fluid pressure that's been building up in recent days on his brain. I hope all has gone and will go well for both he and Lorraine.
Late afternoon. A call from Mr. E confirming our get together this evening in the city, so obviously I'm going. Feel pretty good, the head clear. We'll take a bus to BART, hit the ATM in between and take a bus (if one is running) or a cab back. If I'm going to be hallucinating I'm going to be hallucinating in a cab.
You really worried?
I'm wondering more about the restrictions this thing can put on me for the future. They say ocular migraines will go away one day. Mostly. Most people, if they first experience an ocular migraine when they're older, tend to have them for a period of a couple of years. It's been a couple of years. And even then, with or without them, there's been a certain constriction in the horizon lately, an ever shortening list of ambitions to get out and about, even for photographs. No thought to skip the parades, fairs and such, but I no longer seem to think in terms of just heading out somewhere to see what I might find.
We'll see. Whatever happens will be a trail of discovery. We're not sitting on a bench staring off into the lake with a slack expression on our many faces yet. Not quite yet.
Later evening. A clear headed rather nice evening to be out on the town, no ocular misadventures after setting out at five and getting back at ten, emerging from the BART station to find a bus waiting. When's the last time that happened? Three Guinness over three hours, no apparent problems developing, although it's pretty clear with all this forboding and angst these outings aren't going to be anywhere near the number I've been accustomed to taking in the recent past. Which is pretty much the way it goes, I suppose. Hardly worth a comment.
A note on Facebook to everyone from Lorraine: Wilson's operation seems to have gone just fine: he's awake, bald and a bit grumpy. I'd be a bit grumpy too. So good news.