Sunday. Yesterday was pretty much a write off. I managed a short drive down to the local Seven-Eleven look alike for comfort food and that was about it. The blood pressure no more than normal through the day though, under one-twenty over eighty this morning. I assume we're not going to see any changes after four days now off the meds, but I've been wrong about these things before. We'll just keep on watching.
Mr. H suggested a solo photography trip to the Dakotas up through Montana and the Badlands as a project and I, at the other end of the line, actually thought about it. I could do that. The flat lands? The Dakotas? When's the last time I've done that? Driving home from college, Seattle to New York, getting ready to enter the army at Ft. Benning in Georgia? I remember the Badlands. I remember North Dakota. Not sure what I remember of North Dakota, but I remember driving through it.
Now none of that is to say I'm heading east. Or north and then east. I've talked about a trip up the California coast. A week on the road. Check out the coast. Check out some of the old hippie hide-a-ways if I'm honest about it. A place to run, a place to hide. Maybe (and this gets the blood pumping) where I don't have to worry about whatever is causing this business with the lungs. If it's allergies I don't think fleeing to the woods would be wise, but if it's diesel dust, well then, redwoods here I come! Right? You say I seem to be feeling better than I did yesterday? Not hard to do that.
I am sitting here blowing smoke, of course, celebrating the fact I can. No way to sit down at the keyboard yesterday and comprehend anything that might have come out. Back from breakfast at the moment, just after nine, the sun bright. Maybe we'll get some of that hot weather they were talking about that didn't show up yesterday, last night quite cool and comfortable if it weren't for the other stuff.
Bitch, moan. Bitch, moan.
Later. OK, a walk down to the bus stop but turning around and heading back to the apartment after waiting for ten minutes, the bus to arrive momentarily, do I really want to go downtown and walk? Nothing appeals other than say a cafe mocha for lunch and even that's not much of an incentive. (Chocolate and coffee? Where did that come from?) Drive to Jack London and have a cafe mocha out on the patio at Starbucks? Starbucks? You think? Drive? Downtown? I'd do it in a wink and without effort if I were in the car, but spinning a reason to get in the car is the problem. Fear of going places when the actual going to the places is no big deal. We are falling apart again, here in Oakland.
Later still. Ended up at the breakfast place, a BLT, onion rings and iced cafe mocha. Iced. You learn something every day. Back to look at the various movies I've accumulated over the years. Odd off the wall ones that once had an impact. Some people buy movies and watch them over and over I guess. I've never done that. Once in a year, maybe when I was younger. Once in five. Maybe. I'm watching an old VHS copy of Performance right now with James Fox, Mick Jagger and Anita Pallenberg. Why? I'm not sure. Brings back old times, old memories maybe, not unlike the music.
All those lp's sitting up on shelves in the corner next to the old turn table and stereo columns. I've had the components (with an upgrade or two) for forty years. Forty years. I don't play them much anymore. Another sign of advancing years? Anita Pallenberg, though. No one ever grows too old for Anita Pallenberg sans clothes, right? Right? Not in Oakland.
Why not just play the album?
True. I do of course have the album. Still, Anita Pallenberg (as I recall) doesn't sing.