Sunday. I naturally watched my Korean soap last night so I got to bed at eleven, up without the alarm a half hour or so later than I've recently been awakening (without the alarm), to breakfast and back without particular incident. An hour or so to lay down and drift off and make up for last night, the batteries seem better, so we're up to greet another giddy Sunday in July. With a street fair I've photographed before starting up the way on Telegraph in another couple of hours. This is good. It is. Street fairs are good. They are.

Yesterday's entry was a scrambled ramble short more than a couple of edits, but what the hell, nothing new about that. It isn't so much a lack of interest than a lack of time and clarity, which I talk about. At length. Doesn't matter. I have this unspoken feeling things will work out. I'm hoping that's presentience and not naiveté, mistakenly assuming circumstances more applicable to the young(er). But we've been beating this to death. Stop. A new day, they're saying a high of sixty-eight, a magic number I feel more than comfortable with.

Later. A walk down to Splash Pad Park across from the theater, remembering they were having a fair of some kind, and having seen a banner as I was passing this morning on the way to breakfast. An Oakland Fiber and Textile Festival, as it happens, set up in the area they hold the farmer's market on Saturdays. Not as large, not as many people, a different feel to it (no food stalls for one thing), but nice enough for that. A picture or two.

Although I felt reasonably good setting out, I was getting a good dose of double vision as I walked. It seemed to clear up in the twenty or thirty minutes of walking and it didn't really get all that much in the way, as all the other faculties seemed to be functioning, but double vision none the less. Again, it cleared up out in the air. I have no idea if that was trying to tell me something.

Back to the apartment to take another nap, lay down and listen to the radio anyway, before packing the long lens camera into the backpack and heading out with the second camera over my shoulder to the Temescal Street Festival. The local bus at the base of my hill to Broadway and 20th, the Telegraph Avenue bus out to 45th Street and the festival itself. The first place where I lived when I moved to Oakland is within a short walking distance from the area and I've both visited and photographed it in the past.

A bright sun, the usual problems with contrast, but a good outing if only for the exercise was my thought. A few pictures, some of which turned out, none of which, I think, will win me a prize in a local photography contest. These things happen, no regrets. A large crowd, I thought, lots of people sitting at tables eating, two main stages with music. A bus and then another bus back.

Later still. After spending time in Photoshop going over the pictures I decided I needed to take a walk down by the theater to the ATM, not wanting to go by in the morning on the way to breakfast, more a need to take another walk than anything else. What the hell, I guess I like to walk. A cup of coffee and a lemon bar at the usual café, noticing another set of skate boarders practicing on the steps in front of the white columns on the lake as I was walking back. Again, three whole snapshots in passing. I should go again on another weekend and do the thing right.

Guitar practice now, I've been putting it off. Yesterday and evening I got in some three or so hours, so I'm not worried about slagging off, but there are still a couple (many more than a couple) of moves on that damned fret board I have yet to get down.