Going With It
Friday. Fiddling with a pen and paper the other night. Doesn't fit the haiku form, I'm afraid:
Mourned in the morning.
But what the hell. Very little in life does.
Up somewhat earlier having gone to bed last night leaving some lights on, the idea being to take a nap rather than turn in I seem to recall. Oh, and the blood pressure normal. One hundred ten or so over seventy-eight. OK. Off to breakfast to read the papers while eating the usual fare, home now with the sun coming up, the head relatively clear for heads around here, the blood pressure one-fifteen over eighty-four. Now, of course, the interesting period begins. What will it be on Monday? Hell, what will it be this afternoon now that I'm two days into having stopped taking the meds?
Later. Back from an hour's walk punctuated by a couple of stops to rest, same old slow pace but still a walk none the less, the blood pressure one-fourteen over seventy-four taken after climbing the hill. I took a picture or two I liked, something a little different, the thought going into them anyway, the head in a bubble, but the low blood pressure not in evidence as I watched runners pass by around the lake, runners passing with dogs on leashes with their tongues like red handkerchiefs clenched between their teeth. One big black shaggy dog laid out on the cool cement under the columns, tongue hanging out about five feet, sides heaving (does this dog's owner have a clue?) but both of them passing me later, the dog chipper, his tongue four feet shorter, his gate quick. A regular sort of walk in other words, earlier in the morning than is the norm with no Korean soaps I care to watch, morning or evening, none again until Monday night.
It's been overly warm. I wasn't sure earlier why the dogs looked so beat but they knew and I didn't. Not sure if it's me or the temperature. It's later, the blood pressure still normal, but close to one-twenty over eighty, who knows where it's going? Wherever it's going, I'm going with it.