In New Mexico
Friday. Up this morning early, the usual routine for breakfast before a drive over to the hospital for a blood test, back now thinking I'm ready to start the day. I skipped taking the pain pills when I got up this morning thinking, well, I'm running really low on these here pills and I do feel pretty good, although it's hard to tell when you've just gotten out of bed, but understood they were necessary later by the time I headed for the hospital. So, of course, I relented and they do work, sorta. Sorta work. “Sorta” could be better, but it's better than nothing. No complaints.
I have an annual physical next week and I'll see if they can't send me to another neurologist for one last attempt at finding, if not what's happening, then maybe how to do something more than these fucking little pills are doing now. Yes, even acupuncture. No objections to acupuncture, I know at least two people who've had very good results, it's just the sloth. My sloth. My interminable sloth. I'm not to the point of wishing I had more get up and go - sloth can be rather comfortable - but you do miss opportunities when you're usually unwilling to leave your apartment.
Maybe I'm applying too much of this sloth to the selection of my Netflix movies. I'll read the blurb, think about it, and make a decision. The blurb is a short paragraph description and I'm finding what arrives is often not what I expected. I, at least, get to sample a bunch of stuff I'd never otherwise get a chance to watch, but again, you get to wade through a lot of crap. Yesterday it was Wristcutters: A Love Story. I was thinking, as I was watching the previews for upcoming movies before the movie itself, that all of the previews were for horror movies and some of the trailers were indeed creepy.
Now horror movies are usually pretty horrible, not in the sense of scary, just, you know, “horrible movies” as in bad. It's not a genre I follow. These trailers I was watching, though, really did bring forth a disturbing feeling or two and I was thinking with a title like Wristcutters: A Love Story, maybe I should have paid more attention. As I got into it I realized I'd probably rented it because Tom Waits was one of the actors and Tom Waits has made some off the wall, but interesting movies (with a title like Wristcutters I understood it was getting “off the wall”) and, in fact, it turned out reasonably well. An odd take on a youngsters fall in love story, but interesting and marginally clever. Still. How to make better choices. I suppose I could up the number of movies I'm allowed to have at any given time and not worry that half of them are clinkers.
Can you give me any reason anyone needed to read what you've just written?
Well, one or two may be Tom Waits fans and I figured I'd let them know Wristcutters was palatable.
You'll notice I've gotten this far without mentioning politics or the markets.
I mentioned I'd run out of photographs. Sherry has suggested (cohabitating, as she does, with a husband and a number of cats) that pictures of Ms. Emmy are perfectly acceptable and she'd be happy to explain up close and in person to anyone who thought otherwise why this was true. Nothing wrong with cat photographs, particularly black cat photographs, as they require a certain level of energy and expertise to get the lighting right.
Still. Sloth, aching head, anything else I can reel in as an excuse? Probably not. Mr. A is suggesting a trip to New Mexico (a certain restaurant he wants to revisit) and I can't think I could make such a trip and not bring back any pictures. So something's in the works. In the works is not the same things as works out, but my attitude is positive and what the hell? I've never had dinner in New Mexico.