Thursday. A normal sort of a night's sleep, I guess. To bed before ten, to sleep sometime after (I have no idea how long after, but it didn't seem unusually long), up with the alarm and to breakfast and back. A haircut this morning at ten. Which I need.

It's overcast and grey, as it has been so many of these mornings, but the temperature will pick up and the sun will come out soon enough and all will be swell. After a night's sleep under the covers. None of this ninety degrees and ninety percent humidity or whatever it was at midnight in New York sleeping under a fan. No complaints for all my complaining.

New York was a long time ago. You still think about that?

Only if the weather comes up, I guess. I've put that out of my mind. Not the end of the world, living in a place where the temperatures and the humidity are, um, more extreme than I'd experienced, but it was one of those little unexpected “benefits” you discover when your family moves three thousand miles to a new location, to another culture, to another ocean, to another planet.

I'm not sure what that means.

Whatever.

Later. A walk back home after the haircut, another month under the belt (or maybe the hat), the sun out, the sky clear, the day ahead. Not unlike yesterday. And the day before that. We're in a reasonably upbeat mood, but we're also looking forward to taking a nap starting in about a minute. Not enough sleep last night? Can't tell, but nap it is, we'll look at the day again later.

Later still. A nap or two. Closer to two. An odd day and afternoon, feel OK in the sense of no fuzzy head, double vision stuff, both seem to be receding in these last couple of weeks, but I'm experiencing an odd distancing from everything around me, a me looking at me wondering what I'm up to. That's a strange way to put it, but I'm neither upset nor engaged, happy enough with my day to day and not excited about my day to day. The kind of feeling where you try to sooth things by taking a long drive or by buying something stupid. Another guitar. Another camera gizmo. The usual dead end insanity.

Evening. OK, whatever all of that was earlier seems to have passed. Some of the usual crew are meeting at Harrington's later for a beverage or two and in my earlier condition there was no way José: can't do that, not up for that, no siree. A vast and dangerous journey to San Francisco? Are you kidding?

But now that's gone and I could easily do pretty much anything I might want, although I suspect I'll remain here and fiddle with the guitar. Play another five hundred iterations of that set of seven chords. Odd, though. The day. The way it's gone. Makes me wonder how much of what we call rational thought and clean living is really determined by chemistry, you inhale a little puff of gas that happens to be floating out and about from the tail pipe of a truck and suddenly you're batshit and the little furry creatures have started scurrying around inside the walls.

Now, now. You say you've settled down. Settle down.