Sleep This Night
Sunday. To bed when? I forget. It's ten in the morning, too long ago to remember, but early enough if what little I'm remembering is right. Off to breakfast with the three Sunday papers in tow, lots of stuff to read over breakfast. A nice morning, cool, none of the high temperatures we had last week, a good way to start a day.
A picture of another pandorea flower on the way out, noticing the small bug hiding inside when I looked at it more closely on the computer. I wonder if they're useful in spreading pollen? I suspect not, but I haven't seen any bees around, haven't really seen many bees flitting about the lake shore flowers. We're still losing a large percentage of the bee population every winter, you'd hope people out there were doing more to resolve the problem. Neonicotinoid pesticides they're saying, poor diet, parasites and a lack of genetic diversity. The Europeans have banned these pesticides, we (well, the big chemical companies as usual) are fighting the proposition.
More work on the Asian Heritage photographs for the morning and into the afternoon. Some of them need redoing in Photoshop, most of them don't, but I'm chalking up the “some of them need redoing” on the good side of the column as it shows rekindled interest, a desire for more learning. (A collective pat on the head and a lollipop for our good intentions.)
Later. A bus to the ATM on Broadway and then a walk to the pharmacy: the head clear, the attitude good, a spring in the step, but feeling a bit crabby. Crabby? We've been feeling pretty good in the last whatever few days: no ocular interventions, unpleasant situations or nasty surprises. Why crabby? The day is nice. It's Sunday. All is well with the rest of the world. Why me?
How so crabby? In line at the pharmacy, the bus coming in two minutes, the youngster I collided with when reaching the line graciously giving me the front position (I was there first, but it was close enough he could have made a case for himself), but the two people at the register taking their time, asking questions. Were they in any way out of line? No. Just carrying on a slightly longer conversation about things other than what was needed to complete the transaction, worrisome only if your bus was coming.
And the bus? It was five minutes late, those people in front of me could have discussed the football season and I'd still have made it in time. Did I say something crabby, demonstrate in any way? Not really, a little brusque at my turn at the checkout, but only by paying strict attention to the process to get out the door.
Crabby because I had good energy? The blood pressure is good, the energy is fine and this leads to crabby? Probably not, we don't have a series of these going at the moment, just this one-off while I was watching myself perform.
The bus home, a picture to document where the construction site progress rests before they start again tomorrow. More work on the photographs, the sound of drums coming in through the sliding glass doors from the lake, the natives evidently restless. And having a good time. Here in Oakland.
Later still. The photographs are done and posted. Good. Time now for a nap and prepare something for dinner.
Evening. Little to nothing on television. (Does that qualify as crabby?) A Wallendar at nine and from reading the description from the schedule I can't tell if I've seen it or not. Which is par for the course. I ultimately don't like the series much and I suspect I can build on that dislike to reject it even if it starts reasonably well. Use it to color our judgment, we need some sleep this night.