More Often Than Not
Sunday. I don't think I awoke once last night, awakening just before the alarm was due to go off, getting up and going off and back from breakfast. The tiredness of yesterday did indeed go away in the later evening or, if not last night, then during the night, because I feel pretty good this morning. Off to the Solano Stroll in another half hour for a morning of shooting. Good.
Later. A long morning, I must admit. Shooting the Stroll went well, although I couldn't really think of any photographs I'd taken that might stand out while driving back. There's always one or two, I certainly took enough pictures, but the morning seemed flat, even if the attitude was good. I've always considered the Solano Stroll the last “street festival” of the summer (and of the year), and today I was thinking that's probably to the good.
But these feelings pass. There are a couple of more events on the calendar this month, not to mention a wedding the first week in October in Los Angeles, so we'll ease ourself slowly into this “last festival of the year” business. At least drop any unsettling thoughts it might be a last fling for more than just photographs.
It's afternoon, time for lunch. I'm up for lunch. Something more substantial than I've been having in these last several weeks. I'm hungry. Still under one sixty on the scale in the morning, so nothing there to think about, maybe have something interesting and substantial.
I wouldn't bet on it.
I was asking myself as I was writing, why do I bring it up? I'll go back and forth for a hour or so over where to go and what to eat and then I'll flake out. I'm happy to be cruising along at the current weight, but what's with all the added drama? What's so dramatic and exotic about a sandwich and a Coke? (A diet Coke.)
Later still. Many hours working on the photographs. Some are OK, it's difficult early on for me to tell. Do I like them, even if many don't seem to fit any of the many generally recognized categories of “good”. Experiment (he said). Try something new. Best to go with the ones I personally like for good or ill, we'll continue to follow that trail.
That sounds like a cop out. Ah, art, how misunderstood the artist and the art by the wider unwashed masses. Who cares? Do you? Put a rag in it, have your sandwich and a diet Coke. Stop going on like an old woman who's misplaced her meds.
Now, now. An old man who's misplaced his meds (if you must).
Evening. A walk down the hill to have sushi and sake. I was in the mood. I mentioned I was hungry at lunch and then headed over to the morning café to end up having but a cranberry scone, ice cream and coffee. Why? Well, I mentioned my problem arguing with myself, hungry, but not hungry for anything most people would happily eat. At least I'm consistent. Predictable. Hopeless.
I ordered the usual fare down the hill and then found myself in some kind of zombie zone where they took forever to bring the food, double billed me for an entrée and then forgot me once again after I'd given them a credit card. So, for the first time since I can't remember, I didn't add a tip. I suspect, given the confusion, no one even noticed. Weird.
But, what the hell, the mood right now is fine, the evening is ahead and I have guitar practice to continue and maybe, just maybe, I can use my earlier little mini-drama to convince myself to skip out on sushi (and sake) more often than not.