I Can Do This
Friday. For all my barking about claustrophobia yesterday, the day still went well, got to bed before ten and was up with the alarm at six. Well, six-fifteen. We took our time coming to, listened to the news while the brain resolved the fog.
Off to breakfast on what looks as if it may be a good day. Rain looking clouds up there, but I haven't checked the weather report. I believe it was supposed to be reasonably clear today and should expect a ninety percent chance of rain tomorrow. What to say? The attitude is good, no all too familiar ocular misgivings and I'm looking forward to, if not innovation, then at least clarity. Clarity is good. Believe me.
Later. I need to learn to hold my tongue. A walk over by the construction site, a small number of workers about absorbed in their various tasks, and so one or two photographs to note their presence. Good. So far.
A walk over to the lake where I took maybe three or four marginal photographs. Nothing really going on, not many birds in evidence and then I began experiencing the old weird vision problems compounded by, well, other stuff. Vision problems in that I'd, in say looking up from a pigeon on the grass to the street above, would find the image of the pigeon patched into the street image. A pigeon in a portion of the street image, but the pigeon in perfectly good focus. Disorienting, let me tell you.
Back to the apartment to lie down, the familiar odd shaped blot with the sparkly edge appearing when I closed my eyes. An hour later and all was well and, I suspect, will remain so for the rest of the day. What did I have for breakfast that I can blame this on? The plain waffle with sliced bananas and strawberries, the small dish of orange slices, cantaloupe and watermelon pieces and coffee? The coffee?
How many times have you, with an earnest face, repeated all this?
Too many times to admit to it and still claim to be rational. Still, it's noon, maybe head out for lunch. Experiment with things on the forbidden list, these safe to consume foods are much too dangerous.
Later still. A walk to the morning café for a chicken salad sandwich, fries and lemonade. When's the last time I've eaten fries? Caution to the wind. The chicken does taste better when it's chicken salad, though. An easy walk, a fortuitously arriving bus then back to the apartment feeling OK (I'd say) and to bed for another nap. Up now as it approaches three thinking of listening to the news (of course) and picking up the Telecaster to star on the guitar.
Evening. A thoroughly funky afternoon, most of it (well, half of it) must have been spent in bed. Better now that it's six, but I guess these days will just come along when they will and I'll have to adjust to them.
There are programs I enjoy watching on television this evening, one starting at seven and one starting at nine. Charlie Rose at eight doesn't look promising, but, given the fare I find in the evenings anymore, this evening looks pretty good. To bed at ten. I can do this.