The internal reorganization at the company can mean anything. And probably does. Life goes on and repeats its patterns, some bullets you miss, some bullets you catch, some bullets come at you from your own gun. Life in the 21st century is a gas, gas, gas. Maybe I'll talk about this later and maybe I won't as there are people within the company who read this, more than have in the past, past, past.

Later. You would laugh at my idea of consuming a beer. I laugh. Half the bottle is sitting under its screw cap unfinished in the refrigerator. I obviously need more avenues for excitement like the one I employed this morning. I bought another camera body to match my current Nikon, something I've been thinking about doing for the last couple of years, so I'd have two cameras with exactly the same controls, one running black and white, one running color. I run two cameras when I'm serious about shooting a parade or an event, all decked out in full photographer paraphenalia: jacket, bag, camera one, camera two, batteries, film, lots of lenses and an Albanian safari hat, all necessary items, let me tell you, although I carry just one camera when I'm bopping around the neighborhood.

I will now be able to choose color or black and white as I'm heading out the door, grabbing one or the other, depending on mood or the weather. When I go out with the F5 and the N90s, the feel and the control are different, the sound is different, the focus points are different, the little blinking red light is different. And this has resulted in mistakes, right? Pictures lost? No. Not that I'm aware of. Nothing obvious. Nothing I've spent the time necessary to identify. It is worth spending that much money to have two of the same model? Who cares? Lose a job, gain a camera, salve the wound. It's the American way. Screw it. Anyone who's followed this journal knows my interminable carping about the cost of this and the cost of that. That doesn't apply to cameras. Or computers. It's done. Onward.

Saturday evening, the cat trying to sleep with his head on the back of my left hand as I type, I for whatever reason, putting up with it. I went by the vet today to pick up another three cases of the special cat food. He seems to be eating it and he seems to be gaining weight, although he could use more. I am sitting here realizing that I have lived in this condominium apartment for almost a year, that the operation on my mouth took place fourteen months ago and the world, although lighter, hasn't changed a mott. Or I haven't changed a mott. The mouth is still numb and I need to make an appointment to have the surgeon look at it and ask me questions six months after the last visit when he said it would be better about now. I don't know if its better. It's numb. It's different. I'm used to it, except I find myself being careful in my enunciation and careful while I'm at lunch, napkin ready to correct any problems. There aren't any problems, but the napkin is there just in case. Life I guess. Ready to clean up the mess.

I spent some time this morning answering interview questions about the journal and I realized as I was writing that maybe this journal is developing a theme or a story line after all. Slowly, of course, I seem to be fighting the thought, but maybe this journal should chronicle some of my thoughts about growing older. I am growing older. My brain is starting to become forgetful. Nothing too terrible, you understand, but not the same brain of my youth when I forgot things through neglect and abuse.