Saturday. As I admitted, to bed late, to sleep soon enough, but up two or three times to hit the bathroom. I'm not sure if I awaken because I've been sleeping for too long on one side and need to awaken to turn over, the bathroom just a necessary add-on that wouldn't, by itself, disturb my sleep or if perhaps it was that glass of diet Coke I was foolish enough to have last night and whatever it contained in the way of caffeine.
They say people awaken more easily as they age.
From reading the papers you'd think people at whatever age never really get any sleep.
And so you're tired?
And so I was up thirty minutes after the alarm, up and out taking a little extra time awakening, heading off to breakfast and back on another cloudy sky, but sun soon to follow morning. There were two young women sitting at my table when I arrived, my Saturday waiter forgetting to put out the reserved table sign, and so he was a little embarrassed when I arrived and I was, well, not grumpy - a simple error: where's it written I own one of their tables? - but, well, grumpy. A little grumpy. Over nothing.
Home now at the start of a long weekend. The Carnaval Parade tomorrow and I've been thinking something may be going on today around the lake, although I haven't been able to verify it. There's a Carnaval Street Festival I've attended in the past happening today along Harrison Street in San Francisco. I'm thinking I'll check the lake and save the main photo effort for the parade tomorrow, although it's early yet and I never know where I'll go until I do.
Later. A nap, definitely needed a nap. The blood pressure is good, so we can't blame it on anything other than staying up too late last night. Awake like a light at night, slower in the day than I care to say.
You need a better shtick.
A walk over and along the lake to then head through the farmers market and on to the ice cream shop. Felt wobbly while walking, not for the first time, probably not for the last. Well, “wobbly”. What does that mean? Doesn't really describe the feeling. Like being in a bubble, the vision just at the edge of jittery, the sinuses feeling like crap. Out in the crowd with a head cold might be a better description, although only some elements of a head cold would apply. Me-oh-my.
Anyway, back to the lake, a couple of pictures of the Capoeira dancers wearing Ginga Mundo t-shirts (no, I have no idea what Ginga Mundo is about), a photograph of a Tiger Lily (where are the bees?) and a couple of photographs to document where the construction site stands before they start again next week.
And another nap. I can feel the day coming together and, I suspect, the evening will go quite well as they usually have done in the past. Best the Carnaval Parade is tomorrow as there's a much better chance I'll feel ready to go than I would have this morning. No chance I'll miss the parade, although it's at a fair distance and it will be something of a workout just to get there and start. Never really had these thoughts in the past. The less recent past.
Later still. Another walk over to the lake with a long lens on the camera this time, the walk a product of a long conversation with self using artifice and whatever means I could find to get us out the door. Stale? Bored? Something.
Anyway, lots of people out by the lake on blankets, stopping when I saw a picture I wanted, the lady in silhouette with her boyfriend on the grass. A little embarrassing if I were caught I thought, but that's an advantage of a long lens. Anyway, took three pictures, none of which matched that original sighting, the lady never quite turning her head back to that exact silhouette that had at first made me stop. Such is life.
In walking then down by them to the lake she called out that it was a nice afternoon and I wondered if she'd noticed me taking pictures. Probably not. A nice afternoon indeed, I replied, heading on to take one or two more pictures of pelicans out splashing and then sunning themselves on the boom that protects the fountain. Thus is life.
Again, lots of people, some practicing tight rope walking, but no pictures. You (or at least I) feel I stand out like a sore thumb with a big to ostentatious lens that big on a camera, more a boy with his toy showing off than anything serious.
It's now five, I'm hungry and can't think of a single thing I'd like to eat. More spaghetti here at the apartment? How much spaghetti do I eat in a week? A month? Probably not good for you (he said for the thousandth time: mercury in the clam sauce, Japanese radiation polishing your teeth) when you eat it as often as I.
Evening. I spent the early evening with Netflix then switched to Annika Bengtzon, a Swedish crime reporter series I've complained about in the past (she invariably ends up alone at midnight in a deserted warehouse seeking out a serial killer, evidently oblivious to what serial killers are often up to at midnight in deserted places). I played along with it on guitar before bailing and heading for bed after thirty minutes. Stuff happening in the morning.