Tuesday. To bed with the lights out by ten, awake some fifteen minutes before the alarm, but taking those fifteen minutes to lie there and let the world reassemble into some semblance of norm. Felt good and so up and out the door in the usual routine, off to breakfast and then back by eight. No sign of any aftereffects from the sake last night. One glass seems to have been just right.
Which means more in the future? Back on the sake track?
We did, in our infinite wisdom, buy three of the small single serving bottles yesterday and so we have temptation at hand. We'll see. Buying the damned things made no sense, maybe something will come out of the experiment. We'll see soon enough.
Overcast, but some sun peeking through the clouds. They're saying a chance of rain this evening, maybe late afternoon, so the day will be a little different. Maybe make it easier to find a way to change my own day toward the better. Might, as long as we don't get hung up on a “better what”?
Lots of babble here for feeling good.
Which must mean I'm feeling good.
Later. A walk over to the construction site to take a quick series of pictures, running into the CEO of the construction company building the site. “I understand you're the official site photographer”, was his remark. I introduced myself and gave him the links to HereInOakland and artandlife, both of which I brought current when I returned to the apartment.
So good. We're not ruffling any feathers with our poking around with a camera, he mentioning I'd need to borrow a hard hat from the site office to get decent pictures when the building got higher. That's nice, but we'll wait until he's seen the pictures before assuming all is swell.
A bit tired, we can blame it on the sake last night or the state of the life, nothing over the top tired, just a bit tired with an attempt or two at a nap. Some thought to go see Kill The Messenger at the Shattuck theater in Berkeley, but I managed to talk myself out of it. We may well go tomorrow or Thursday.
It's a just released film about the reporter who broke the story of the CIA's role in the cocaine epidemic that started during the Iran-Contra period where the sale of cocaine in our inner city neighborhoods by the Contras was used in the financing of their battle with the Sandinista government of Nicaragua. It's a period I still remember and would like to know more about the reporter who's life was destroyed for breaking the story. Not a happy American chapter. Many too many not so happy of our American chapters.
Evening. Nothing on television and so to bed to see what I might find on the tablet (Amazon and Netflix) before going to sleep. I did crack a second bottle of that sake, but drank not quite half before deciding I wasn't liking what it was doing to my head. More aching than soothing. Funky than soothing. Something like that.
They're saying rain tonight and from what I'm hearing of the wind outside, they might well be right.