Monday. Lights out before ten to then awaken at five-thirty, a car alarm having gone off somewhere close by. So, a half hour to kill before getting up. No sign of discomfort in the right leg this morning. Whatever caused it hasn't decided to stay around and, in fact, it was pretty much gone by the time I went to bed last night. No complaints.
It had been raining last night and the sky didn't look promising, so a drive to breakfast requiring the wipers now and again. Could I have walked and not gotten wet? Maybe, but it was close. Better to drive.
The chicken-apple sausage, eggs, country potatoes, fruit cup and coffee for breakfast coming in at one-fifty on the scale this morning. Good. The East Bay Express arrived just as I was leaving and so I had all three papers in hand. Good. More wet mist on the way back home, passing by the workers clearing out that building on Grand where they're going to build two residential buildings just down my street. Probably good. More places to live.
Home now, the right leg just a little sore from sitting. Or am I overly sensitive after yesterday's experience? Maybe it's just something to notice as we sink into babble on this, a Monday, here, in the heart of Oakland.
Later. Remembered there'd been a new episode of Elementary last night and so watched it on the tablet. Ah, well. Another improbable mix: some good, some bad, all of it in an impossible plot. The question is what is it about any program that causes me to react in one way or another and not about the particular program or series itself. Why do I go off and expend energy thinking or writing about it? Of more interest: how have my reactions changed over time?
I once started a Sherlock Holmes novel, gave it up when I realized I had no particular story line in mind, no particular set of traits I wanted to give to the characters, no particular ideas I wanted to explore. Every writer runs into these, part of the process is to distill fashion them, distill them, it's just that I quit trying after four full years of writing in my thirties. Maybe I needed five. Maybe the explorations of a writer are not in me struggling to get out.
Nothing wrong with that, some people write books it and some people don't. Still interesting to look into my own reactions to these new Holmes series and ask what they say about my own prejudices and where I'm coming from. With the photographs there isn't a lot of internal discussion as to why it absorbs my time, more thinking about how long I'll continue as I age. Thoughts that are now more common.
All of which means?
Watched last night's episode of Elementary on the tablet. Found it frustrating in many ways, but still watched it to then bitch.
Later still. Walked over to the burger drive-in and ordered a grilled cheese sandwich on sourdough with fries, taking it home to discover they'd given me grilled chicken on sourdough instead. I remember thinking the price hadn't added up, but, as I never order fries, I figured the ticket total was probably accurate and so didn't think to check the slip. Until I got home.
Hasn't been raining for a while, they're saying more though this evening and stopping at noon tomorrow. Rain again on Wednesday night, clearing up Thursday morning with sun for the entire week that follows. Cross fingers.
Evening. Nothing on television. Skipped Democracy Now! as I had no need to hear more about North Korea, have never been able to watch Father Brown, had seen the Inspector Lewis episode more than once and Charlie Rose was interviewing some of the usual people on our political landscape that wouldn't have been believable had it been described in a novel. Not even a science fiction novel.
Sounds like you're burned out.
Tired, it's after eight and I think it's time to go to bed and start again tomorrow.