Wednesday. To sleep last night after eleven. For some reason, no matter how much or little sleep I may have gotten the night before (not that I really skimp all that much on my sleep), I'm not ready to conk out until eleven, getting up most times at six. As I did this morning doing my usual drive off to breakfast and the papers routine. It's overcast, but the sun is showing through the clouds as I write. My guitar lesson coming up at ten.

My practice time has been good, practicing every day, some days longer than others, some days shorter than I like. I do believe you need to keep at least some pressure on if you hope to progress, but not too much lest you derail your desire to play. This is supposed to be fun, mostly anyway, not good to worry overly much you haven't done enough practicing as you're getting ready to face your guitar instructor in the morning.

So we'll ease off and not worry about it. I've done the riffs over and over, done the scales, spent less time on the chords than I should, but enough time to make progress. Lets not let our little “oh my!” routines get in the way of living. We are retired, after all, the rent is paid, the guitar is tuned, the sleep is good, we're cruising along now trim and fit (sorta fit), what's the worry? I'm not a worrier. Right?

I'm worried we're going around in circles here.

My pucker factor seems to rise on Mondays, when I realize I have but two days to go before my lesson. This even after a good series of prior daily sessions on Wednesdays through Sundays. Enough of a pucker factor that I notice it, anyway. No sleep lost, but why any thoughts at all? After a certain age you're supposed to have this crap worked out. Particularly if all the strain you've really faced in this life is making the rent and bending yourself into one or another corporate culture. No wife, no kids, none of the heavier stuff. We're the ones who've worked it out, right? Right? (Hup?)

Later. So, that was easy enough, but still, getting home, I felt a weight of sorts lift as I realized other than a haircut and dinner on Friday, the rest of the week is clear. What's that about? My instructor is having foot surgery on Monday, so I'm off for two weeks, but I have plenty in the hopper to practice, here and in Portland. Silly to think about, I'll play and practice with pleasure, but for whatever reason here I am bringing it up.

The sun is out (the Chronicle says scattered clouds today and tomorrow), something needs to happen later, a walk somewhere I haven't been to in a while. Or a walk to a much travelled place with a fresh eye. Either way works. You hope for one or the other.

Later still. Nothing too exciting, no adventures to report. A bus downtown, a walk then to the Rotunda building across from City Hall to have a cup of coffee and take a picture of the Christmas tree below on the basement floor. I got a bit too artsy-fartsy and included my shoe at the bottom of the photograph but found it too distracting and cropped it out.

They don't allow photography in the building and there's a guy who sits across the way at a reception desk who enforces it, so I was a bit inhibited sneaking the shot. I'm not sure why they don't allow photography, maybe Homeland Security has an office up on one of the floors. Maybe the building owners are totally anal, acting out having been frightened when they were young by a camera flash in their cribs.

A walk then down Telegraph, then Broadway, then catching a bus well along Grand, home now, the sun shining, the mood good. A photograph of my tree stump since I haven't taken one in a while.