To Bed Early
Monday. To bed at nine last night with an ocular something or other looming along the perimeter, which at least resulted in a long night's sleep, awakening at seven without an alarm. A drive over to hit the ATM before heading on to breakfast on this clear, clearly going to be a sunny, morning, back now at the apartment at nine.
Some futzing with yesterday's entry (much got in the way of yesterday's entry), slowed by what appears to be another ocular-like thing germinating this morning. Indeed the indicative dry mouth and other precursors, so I lay down just now for about fifteen, twenty minutes to see if it would wring itself out. Up then feeling better to finish posting, but this is obviously too many of these things not to become concerned. Well, tomorrow. We'll become concerned tomorrow if they continue, particularly if I haven't been consuming any of the foods on the list that supposedly bring them on.
A better diet might be in order.
I know, I know. It's probably the ice cream. Or eating every day at my morning café. They probably cook with some kind of secret ethnic ingredient that's causing the problem. I may have to consider actually buying things that don't contain sugar and spice and everything nice and require cooking, reconsider my lack of shopping interest at the many nearby farmers markets.
Later. At least the mood is good. It is. The eyes are a little out of focus, at least they were walking down to the morning café in the early afternoon for a cup of mocha chip and coffee. I believe I said something about ice cream earlier, but pay no attention, certainly it's clear that I don't. Won't. And the out of focus eyes? Nothing to think about as long as the head is clear and reality remains relatively trustworthy and reliable.
Still, a nice day, people lying out on blankets by the lake, sitting on the benches gazing into the distance, Labor Day on a Labor Day weekend, you forget sometimes it's OK to just sit and relax. Something I've been thinking about, not because I've really ever thought of myself as all that tightly wired, it's just, well, having the leisure time to think about it now, I suspect we're all wired tighter than we realize, even those of us who kid themselves by saying we've ducked out on most of the stressful things in this life.
Or something like that.
Or something like that.
Going through some of the old photographs I noticed this comparison with last year's Oakland Pride Festival. Seems my hair has gotten shorter in the last twelve months. For the best, I think, it's too thick, grows straight out when it grows, no sense of proportion. I gave it a try, don't need to do it again. We're good with the shorter hair (he said), something on the list I've actually gotten done.
Same shirt? Same pair of pants?
I suspect it's not the best way to dress, owning and wearing a set of a dozen or so of the exact same shirts and pants, but that's the way it is. No one mentions it, at least not when I'm present. They fit, they're comfortable and there's always another clean pair in the closet.
Are we a bit embarrassed and you felt the need to mention it?
Well no, not really. Well, maybe a little bit.
Later still. A good afternoon and a decent amount of time on the guitar. The new lesson is hopeless, but then it usually is when I start it, although it doesn't take me more than about twice as long as it takes anyone else to master a passage. “Master” is a relative term here, more like able to play it from memory, getting all the way through without making a mistake. Sometimes.
Evening. More guitar. Good. The teeth are aching again. Bad. To bed early. I'm glad.