Of The Book
Tuesday. An overcast morning, no rain, gas prices up six cents, breakfast finished and back to the apartment before eight. Ms. Emmy much recovered from yesterday, still eating relatively well, due for another couple of squirts of anti-biotics (into her mouth with an eye dropper, fortunately it's sweet and she's not too freaked once she tastes it) before the medication is finished. Good. Glad to have that done and over. I admit to having been worried. Here in Oakland in the middle of winter.
In the middle of winter?
We are coming around, here in the middle of Oakland in the middle of winter, I can feel it. No complaints. Now where's that tripod? What's that photograph I was thinking of taking? I did order a couple of books on picture framing which should arrive in the next few days. I'm looking to make a list of the equipment I will need to make my own frames - cut glass, mats, the whole ball of wax - and put together a small group of pictures to display, say, at my morning café.
There are many ways to get one's butt in gear and futzing with picture framing in the winter seems like one of the ways to do it. (Hup! Hup!) I can tell you've heard me say this before. I believe I ordered a book on picture framing a couple of years ago with the same idea in mind (sort of in mind, not with the clarity I have with this iteration), but that was then, my buckos, this is now. My head is clear (clearer), my cat is recovering and gaining weight, I'm recovering and losing weight and 2009 is spread out before me like an all you can eat Christmas dinner. My normal reaction would be to take a nap, but you can nap and frame photographs both, can you not? The trick is to get it done, doesn't matter what tactics you use to wriggle through, right? Right?
Later. While sitting out at a table in front of the bagel place looking at the lunch I'd just consumed I realized I hadn't thought a smidgen about possible food interactions and a resulting stomach ache. My, my, I thought. How foolish. The mixed fruit side dish wasn't going to be a problem, I was pretty sure, but the pepperoni pizza bagel? Doesn't just the sound of it give you pause? Still, I'd finished, so far so good. Take another sip of this here cup of black coffee and think about it.
I'm thinking the coffee. Nothing too terrible, the trouble I mean. More the beginnings of trouble than any real kind of trouble, just the start of something that I was able to kill in its tracks with a glass of water and a Prilosec when I returned to the apartment. But still. It's pretty much the coffee and alcohol, I'm afraid. It lulls you to sleep thinking all is back to normal and then, a sip, a wayward sip and reality drops its anchor in your stomach. A call to the doctor being put off for reasons that will one day be considered foolish? Shouldn't I call this afternoon? Before it returns? With its friends? If this were a novel you'd know the author would never introduce an upset stomach in the first chapter that he didn't plan to bring back by the last. Chapter. Of the book.
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