Thursday. Spain tells me Wilson is now conscious: “His eyes have opened, he is responding to people and he's talking a little”. Well, why in the hell not? I think a trip to the hospital is in the works for me tomorrow. I will feel much better knowing he's still out there and about.
Otherwise, what? Breakfast at the usual place reading the papers, back to the apartment, a bus to the downtown for a haircut. Dizzy when I get up, not when I wake up and get out of bed, but when I get up after taking the morning blood pressure pill. And out of breath easily, this morning, when I'm walking any distance. Back to the medicos, I think. Maybe try breaking that pill in half, take one in the morning, one in the evening. Take the damned pill before I go to bed instead of when I get up. (Hey, I like that!) Getting dizzy doesn't lend itself to good photography, writing or reliably crossing the street. Deedle-dee-deet.
Later a trip to San Francisco to meet (as I mentioned) with the usual crew. My hair stylist (who's shop in the building next to my old building) had already heard, this morning, they were moving their offices somewhere out of state. “Hadn't they just spent millions renovating their space and signing a new lease?” Why yes they had, I said. “Isn't that awfully expensive to just, you know, pull up and leave?” Why yes, I believe it is.
Later. Back from San Francisco wondering if I'm getting a little too old to be drinking with youngsters at Harrington's. Three Guinness over the course of the evening, no problem there, but I'm feeling more like a bump on a log as I get into this retirement business. Not altogether sure what that's about, but I'm learning.