Overly Protected Life
Monday. To bed too late, up this sunny going to be a warm day morning at seven (having turned off the alarm and gotten a fitful additional hour or so's sleep). Off to breakfast and back at the apartment to tinker with yesterday's entry, trying to not sound quite so less than urbane in describing my thoughts on and about Folsom Street. And we do have photographs to process. Lots of photographs to process of an interesting scene the Chronicle reported having packed four hundred thousand people into those few square blocks. That's a lot of people for one now older photographer to photograph in an abbreviated afternoon.
Still, the attitude is good and I don't seem to be all that sleepy, even with last night's shorter hours, so maybe a nap later if the need arises and we can get through the day without making some other less than happy recompense for all this screwing running around. We're not into making less than happy recompense. We're not.
Later. It turns out I did indeed take a lot of photographs that I've finally finished processing now that it approaches six. A break earlier to have lunch at the morning café, taking a photograph or two of one of the last remaining flowers on the seemingly healthy pandorea vines, before returning to the computer. I've done more than enough work in Photoshop for one day, let me tell you, and I'll finish them up for artandlife tomorrow. Yes I will. Tomorrow or the day after. I'm tired.
You mentioned that.
Evening. Not much on television, but a bit of guitar, a bath, a bit more guitar and now I'm thinking to bed early. No urges to take a nap today, no other little uninvited visitors or events to ponder, we'll see if we can't get to bed before ten. A haircut is scheduled for the morning, a dogleg over to the pharmacy I've been putting off after, and then back to these Folsom Street pictures. Hup! For some reason they seem to have worn us down, maybe because it turns out there are well over a hundred, five new sections of bare bums and leather thongs for artandlife to ponder.
Ah, that's why you're worn out.
Indeed. It feels like one of those bad old Mondays before I retired. Welcome to the real world or, in this case, a kinkier world than one has imagined in this overly protected life of mine.