Bed At Eight
Tuesday. To bed last night at ten reading another short chapter of Thomas Pynchon's Bleeding Edge, the narrative coming into somewhat better focus, although I don't know where he's going with this yet as it has hints of having been written by a brain that may have abused too many drugs. Either that or the bastard's sly and he's setting the reader up. I hoping he's setting the reader up.
Up easily with the alarm after spending what I thought was a long time getting to sleep. I'm never sure if it's a light sleep during this period and a deep sleep that follows, this first hour or two of light sleep counting toward the total or if I'm, you know, just wasting away the time for no good purpose or reason, the Fates looking on in amusement. Life is strange. Interesting, but strange, even when it hews to a standard story line.
Anyway, off to breakfast and back, the sky clear, the gas prices falling another two cents, they're saying a high of sixty-nine degrees later in the day in Oakland. A trip to the pharmacy for prescription refills, a guitar lesson and the day is done. I was thinking of doing the laundry, but I saw (heard) the washers running when I returned from breakfast, so we'll check again now and maybe put it off until tomorrow. We're not out of anything, still plenty of stuff to wear, but I'm down to the heavy wool socks that somehow put me off, although they're more than comfortable enough when you're wearing them.
That doesn't make sense.
You're catching on.
Later. A bus downtown to pick up the prescriptions. Only one was ready, but it was the one I was about to run out of, the pain meds. Don't want to run out of your pain meds, particularly as the object of their attention has been acting up these last several months. You'd hope it would get better, but it doesn't. Ever so slowly to the worse, I'm afraid, so we pay attention.
A walk then to Grand and then a bus home, the temperature warm enough by then to lose the jacket. Still, a dry mouth developing on the way, feeling a bit cranky, thinking a brief lie down on the bed and possibly a nap might turn things around. It now approaches noon, no laundry this morning, maybe pick up the guitar and run through the coming lesson. I might, but probably won't, repeating the past. I talk about doing a last minute go through on the lesson day, but haven't, don't, not sure why.
Because you're so well prepared? No need to take precautions?
Indeed. The dry mouth has pretty much gone, the head is clear, we're feeling better. Go with the rationalizations, keep the attitude up, even if the chords suffer.
Later still. Out the door again, in a t-shirt this time, over to the lake to take one or two pictures, one to document the Lesser Scaups with a gull or two out in the middle of the lake, another to show I'd at least been there and used the camera.
On to the ATM on Lakeshore thinking it's too far to walk, don't want to walk that far, and then realized how easy the walk and how quickly I'd arrived. Some thought to have another of those yogurt/strawberry/cereal cups at the bagel place, but they were out and I wasn't in the mood for anything else.
So now what? To walk on to the morning café for ice cream and a lemonade or duck into the ice cream shop on Lakeshore just a block away? Two scoops in a cup at the ice cream shop.
Back now at the apartment, another picture as I passed by the lake, the guitar lesson coming up. My teacher's band is playing live on a local radio station Saturday evening at nine. I will undoubtedly listen (or lie that I did) and see what their new CD is like.
Even later still. My poor guitar teacher. Dealing with idiots to earn a living through music. Well, maybe not that bad, I did hit all the chords playing at full tilt, but I'm not sure leading me limping through the lesson is good for his mental health.
Where did that come from?
Oh, I pulled it out of my ear. Pay no attention, we'll start again fresh later.
In the next life.
Evening. Nothing at six, watched the Korean soap at six forty-five (as much as I was able to stand) and then went to bed at eight.