Tomorrow May Bring
Friday. I skipped out on the last part of the Inspector Lynley program on PBS last night thinking best I get to bed and I probably didn't want to see the advertised collision between the inspector and his long time female detective sergeant partner (billed as their last episode together). I'm not sure why I'd think one way or another about the series, I've watched it and skipped it in equal measure, a part of my current reality of not watching much of anything anymore.
Still, to bed at ten, to sleep pretty much right away, getting up at nine three hours after I'd set the alarm. You'd think that would be enough sleep after yesterday's naps and what I'd thought was a good night's sleep the night before, but I felt like the proverbial train wreck getting up and, since it was after nine and the sun was up, I walked like a low key zombie to breakfast instead of driving on this sunny, but not overly warm (as in just right) morning.
I needed to go by the ATM, but didn't want to walk that far out of my way and back in zombie mode before I had a chance to sit and eat (and read), so I went straight to breakfast before walking around the loop and on to the ATM after. Lots more people eating breakfast at nine instead of six in the morning, but there were still empty tables available, so I didn't feel guilty about monopolizing mine for over an hour.
So what to say? I'd remembered to put the note up on the mailbox asking UPS to allow the manager to sign for any packages that arrived in my absence and indeed, the two small deliveries I'd been expecting were sitting inside. A backup battery for the new camera and a filter for a lens that's due to arrive on Tuesday, my one last camera related expenditure (I swear) for a very long time.
No, but I can't foresee what it is I'd want to get that I don't already have gathering dust somewhere in a closet.
So it's noon, I've (finally) posted yesterday's entry and there's a day ahead. No goslings or ducklings or other cute beasts in evidence as I was walking by the lake on the way home, no urge to go out again and find something to shoot, but emotions and ambitions can change, here in the big city, and undoubtedly will.
Sushi and sake?
The sake yesterday went well, consumed by six, the head clear again by eight. Whatever brought on the long night's sleep and the slow zombie awakening this morning could have been influenced by the sake, but I'm not ready to believe it. Until the next time it happens which will not be until next week: not tonight, not over the weekend (unless I should find myself getting together with the usual crew).
Later. For whatever illogical reason an urge to go out again and head downtown, sitting for a bit at a table in the City Center and then walking over to 9th Street where they were packing up the farmers market, drinking a cup of coffee out at a sidewalk table at a nearby café. A walk then to the bus stop and a ride back home.
A small group had been laying down a chalk mural at the entrance to Frank Ogawa Plaza visible from the bus stop and I walked over to see, interested in how they'd laid it out and how they were progressing, having photographed others without seeing them made in the past. A demonstration of some kind coming up this weekend? Probably, although I haven't seen or heard any mention of any nearby.
A slow afternoon for me, a slight not quite zombie disorientation that doesn't bode well if it gets any worse over the coming months-years. Nothing too disturbing, but I do wonder why, whether it will last; wonder if I should be making short-term instead of mid-term plans to deal with it. Not that I've made any plans at all, you understand.
So, back now at the apartment, the PBS news droning along in the background, some thought to pick up the guitar and at least go through the newly assigned pieces for the lesson. The assignments have been getting more interesting lately, I can see glimmers of being able at some point to play along on a song. Nothing great, you understand, but reliable; people listening and not thinking the guy on guitar needs a year or more practice. Odd thought, but who knows?
Evening. A nap starting just after four and ending at six. This after last night's sleep. Hmm. I have no idea, but this day has been a blur.
The six o'clock television program was another Italian thing I decided to skip after watching for a while, nothing else really now on the tube. I may have to rethink my limited selection of programs as even I can only handle so much news. One of the problems of living inside of “something of a blur” is it's hard to sit down and practice the guitar or scribble out anything of coherence. Doesn't do much for the pictures either. So we'll get to bed early, see what tomorrow may bring.