Well, To Bed
Tuesday. To bed early, yes; up with the alarm, yes; off to breakfast and back on an overcast, but soon to be sunny morning. Hup! We're feeling pretty good for a Tuesday, I'd think, even with all the hup! hup! crap.
I have no idea what the day will bring other than a lot of guitar. We'll catch up on yesterday and Sunday, get ourself in shape for the Thursday showdown. Hup!
Later. A bus to the ATM on Broadway and then a walk to the City Center to have a cup of coffee out at a table. Seems familiar so far, does it not? A picture to take a picture and then back to the apartment, first walking and then a bus, thinking odd thoughts. The bedroom needs finishing, finishing in the sense of putting up the last of the pictures, moving the bed against another wall and, well, cleaning off the top of the desk. The “odd” in the thought is I think I'm actually going to do something about it.
Later still. A couple of hours re-stacking this and that, getting things in order and moving the bed after doing a thorough vacuuming. Hmm. I think I'll take my temperature just in case. Nice afternoon outside. Listening to Ry Cooder and the new Dylan CD that arrived just now.
Even later still. To avoid moving the bed I cleaned up the photo closet putting all the various unexposed rolls of film together in a plastic storage box, finding little stashes I'd been unaware of all this time. I must have a hundred assorted rolls of Tri-X, TMY-100, Ektachrome, Fuji and the like. Will I every use them? They're old enough now I'd think about it from that standpoint, although any film I'd shoot today might be shot just to see what the older film might look like.
Still, quite a bit of progress with the camera cabinet and the bedroom desk, things getting consolidated and neatly stacked out of sight. Out of mind, out of sight. Or out of sight, out of mind. Something like that.
So, a start. We'll see how it rolls tomorrow. Well over an hour practicing the guitar, more to come while watching a Maigret episode in a little bit at six. I seem to be able to get through the chord changes in George Harrison's Something faster and more reliably now and the little blues riff is coming along. Good, I guess. I say this and then stumble into the truth come the day. No complaints, we're making progress.
Evening. Another Maigret I've seen before, another who done it I recognize, but can't remember who done it until the end when all is revealed. Not bad, I guess. Not something that's come along as I've gotten older, I've never been good at remembering the endings of the various mystery novels, movies and television programs. There are advantages in this.
Nothing to tempt me on television at nine and I've spent more than enough time practicing, so, well, to bed.