Friday. How did it go last night? To bed early enough, some time watching bits and pieces of various series on the tablet, some time with Ms. Klein and then to sleep. About ten. About right.
Awake maybe five minutes before the alarm, so we must have gotten enough sleep. Up and out the door on another soon to be sunny morning (when the sun came up over the horizon, we do set out in the dark, after all) to read the papers over breakfast, a thoroughly normal morning.
There is a First Friday over along Broadway and Telegraph this evening, an opportunity to get some pictures. I've been skipping them now for some time, but there's nothing coming up over the weekend in the way of festivals and such I'm willing to shoot/find, so maybe we'll break our chain of misses. Maybe. We'll see.
Later. A walk over to the construction site at ten to take a set of pictures. Not a lot of activity, but enough to put on film disk. Hmm. Top disk it is. Warm out there, the coming afternoon temperatures the comments made between workman and photographer. I don't envy their afternoon.
Back to lie down for a while, see if I couldn't put together a nap, the fan turned on at the foot of the bed. No desire to watch anything on the tablet and so another fifty or so pages of Ms. Klein's new book. Best to leave it at that.
It's now one in the afternoon, fairly humid here inside, we'll take a walk later to get something to eat. I'm favoring a pint of ice cream at the moment. I suspect it may win out.
Haven't had any thoughts of alcohol for a long time. The thought (if not the fact, who knows what's real with such questions?) is I feel I'm a bit fuzzy too much of the time, don't want to make the head more fuzzy still. Thinking back, the soothing aspects of alcohol were useful in tuning the day's energy/clarity/stress down. Clip a bit of the speed. I've talked with friends who've used it over time to medicate their emotional ups and downs. Interesting thoughts, not thoughts I'd have had when I was younger while keeping up with the pack.
Later still. I realized I was wrong about the humidity after checking the weather site: temperature ninety, humidity thirty-eight percent. One or the other, doesn't really matter, I guess. Each props up the other in playing their part.
Evening. Not even a thought about attending First Friday. It wasn't so much because it was still to warm and I was still too old cold on the idea to go out. And about.
And there is a New Tricks at seven, we'll see if we can get through it. Pretty tame and straightforward stuff compared to the foreign series I've been watching through Netflix and Amazon.
One I've just started, Low Winter Sun, begins with a pair of detectives killing one of the detective's partners, a man who it's made abundantly clear is seriously bent and deserves such a fate, but these two detective killers are now the detective “heroes” of the series and you don't know, as the plot has so far evolved, if they themselves are as seriously bent as their victim. Police who murder police. Not a theme you would have seen in the days when New Tricks was made.
Are you upset?
Not at all. We are living in disturbing times and the arts are usually pretty good at putting it all out there, worts and all, when the other forms of mass communication are not. Bad people around the world abound.