Ten Years Ago
Monday. I've been prattling on about learning the guitar, learning the steps and insights it opens to you as you progress. At what appears a much slower rate I've been learning lately more about my writing, how useful it is to prattle on about something, realize from it that you not only don't know anything about what you've been babbling on about, but what your own unfocused thoughts really are on the subject and how a proper sit down, do the research and write it all down (many times) can bring it together. The one reason, I suspect, why most people become writers, researchers, journalists, and most everything else. The writing itself, yes, you need to want to write (day in and day out), but used as a tool to take you to a place you want/need to be. Deedle-dee-dee.
I'm thinking that at the moment because, were I younger with this particular realization, I might have taken one of those paths that might then have opened up, leading me on a long (and probably most interesting) trip. I probably could have stated this back then, seems pretty obvious, but didn't have an understanding at the visceral level I seem to have now. I've learned a couple of things about writing over the years, but I've never really put the writing to use. This journal is writing of a kind, a kind of preparation or practice space, but not the main event.
My, my. I'm afraid there's no cure for any of this babbling. You just go on and on (without writing it down properly and getting it right).
Up this morning at seven after getting to sleep before eleven, turning off the alarm at six and getting in another hour. Up just once in the night because, well, I awoke. Can't say more than that. Needed to turn over, as the side I was sleeping on really ached and so got up to take a leak, but not enough of a leak to blame for the incident. Whatever. A decent night's sleep in other words, whatever the path, whatever the process, we'll not complain more than is our habit.
Pretty damned foggy out there this morning. I need to spend some time on the guitar, catch up on a slow and not overly productive week (it's a holiday week, we're allowed some slack), get out for a walk and hit the ATM again. We don't seem to be contemplating doing anything outside of our box this soon after breakfast.
I did look up what it takes to rent an RV for two weeks this coming month, take a slow trip up to the family party and see what driving and doing overnights in an RV might be like. Not cheap, but then neither is a compartment on the train. Cheap, though, in finding out if you'd actually like to ride around in one of these things before you go out and buy. So maybe a small step. I won't do anything about it unless I do. Of course.
Later. A bus to the ATM, a walk then to the Rotunda building for coffee and an apple turnover. They sell good apple turnovers along with good most everything else. Close to noon, out the door to check out the plaza in front of City Hall, see if there are any people about. Plenty of security, both local police and contract people in black. The tree people haven't let up. The meditation group is still meeting (during the noon hour, all are welcome to join in) and the pigeons are plentiful because the tree people have been feeding them bread. OK.
Hopped on one of the free buses down to Jack London Square after photographing the City Center tree now that they've finished the decorations. A traditional photograph of my reflection in one of the ornaments followed by another in Jack London Square. Pretty empty, Jack London Square, a shot or two of the yacht basin to see if I could get anything interesting out of the fog, half trying, I'm afraid, as I didn't feel like pushing very hard. An amble to Ben & Jerry's, but no tables out on their sidewalk, so a walk farther on to catch another bus, this time all the way to the Grand Lake theater area to find something to eat.
Lunch (a good lunch at the usual place), a walk back to the apartment, the sun starting to burn through the fog at two in the afternoon. I've had my day outside, I'm home now to play guitar. (hup! hup!) Too many - hup! hups! - but like hiccups, they come when they want without asking.
Evening. Another page up on artandlife after spending a bit of time working with some of the new files Mr. P has been putting together. It's actually gotten me off my duff and I've gone through some of the older code and realize I've, well, screwed a few things up, not too badly I hope.
To bed early this evening, I think, the fingertips turning purple from pushing the strings. Purple fingertips at the age of sixty-eight from string bending exercises. Not something I would have ever guessed I'd be doing ten years ago I'd think.