A good morning, this morning, up in time to arrive at my breakfast place by seven (they open for breakfast at seven and the city starts charging for parking at eight, so seven allows me to drive on the cheap) to leisurely read the paper(s) with toast and eggs over easy.

They've asked me on occasion if I want to display a series of my photographs on their walls (they've always displayed local artist's work throughout the café, part of their rationale for existance). Well, the waitresses have asked me on occasion if I want to display some of my photographs to be nice to me (I smile, say hello, don't pinch in the corners and tip like crazy, which waitresses find laudable in a customer who carries a camera) and I've finally said I would. There's an artist who manages these displays so I gave them my artandlife card and we'll see what he says. A half dozen photographs, framed, with a specific theme? I can do that, now that I'm retired. I can do that. Won't overly drain my energy the way walking to breakfast might, avoiding it as I have been by driving in at seven, blaming it on this chest cold, one the weather, on the fates.

We're drifting here.

Those of us who live inside our heads find ourselves drifting as often as not. Part of the territory. One hopes we are not drifting over the edge. One hopes we are not drifting upon something like, say, the Greenland ice cap and, like our friends the Polar Bears, unaware of the dangers that surround us.

And these realizations lead you back out of your head and onto solid ground?

Don't be silly. Every good man's goal is to recede into one's subconscious and build his own fantasy existence. Why do you think Al Gore invented the Internet? To become President of the United States? This is America. This is Oakland.