I suspect this summer is a time I'm going to make some (small) changes, not sure quite yet what they'll be, but I've been in a rut for long enough now, even I know it's time for a change. A comfortable rut, but a rut none the less. So we'll see. Start with a shift in direction for the web sites, the photography and the writing (yes, I consider this to be writing) and see if they take hold and grow. Still the same old me, but change is necessary every few decades or so, even for someone so well conceived and stitched together. Don't you think?

Running a load of laundry through the wash. A white windbreaker needs washing and, although it's not all that, um, dirty (from a guy's standpoint), the idea I'd do a load of laundry sooner than necessary to clean a jacket is a change of sorts. Especially if it becomes routine.

That's your idea of change? Washing a jacket?

The tip of an ice berg, my friend. There's more in the store.

Later. Nothing different in my heading downtown on the bus, the excuse being I'd run out of folic acid this morning, one of the over the counter supplements prescribed by my doctor many years back.

A bagel with cream cheese afterward out at a table in the City Center (not prescribed by a doctor), nothing new in that, although I know I bought the bagel to sit and watch the people walk by. You don't have to eat or drink to sit at one of their tables, but again, out of habit.

A decision to walk home and skip the bus, get today's walking out of the way. The temperature was fine, not up into the seventies yet and a t-shirt, jeans and light jacket were just right, feeling OK.

I did take two pictures as I passed by the lake, forgetting I'd taken a photograph and then what is was I'd photographed checking the camera counter as I entered the apartment. Same subject, neither of them of any particular merit. I saw the line of geese as I was passing, but too late to center them with the fountain in the background, not that centering would have made much difference. No blame. I've found I can be as dry as photographic dust one minute and sensitive as all hell in the very next. Click, click.

I've been doing this more often, though: forgetting what pictures I'd taken thirty minutes prior when I checked the camera counter; what it was I'd headed into the bedroom to get; opening a cupboard with a mind suddenly gone blank. I'm better with tracking the meds in the morning and in the afternoon, although I've gone through periods where I've worried about that. One or two of them you really don't want to screw up. When these lapses occur you think - oh god! - this is what I've heard, this is forever and then it turns around and your memory is back. So far, anyway, in May June.

So, what the hell. My guitar lesson is tomorrow so today is the day to go through the whole thing a few extra times to see how much progress I've made. I have made progress, but there's always more you can make. Good to practice an hour every day, but better (for the playing, at least) if you do two. Or three. Or, if things really get out of hand, more. Probably better to do more when you're twelve rather than when you're over sixty, although I have to think about that. Rock and roll in the sixties is not the same thing as rock and roll in your sixties, I think.

“I guess, I think”. A good editor would ease back on that crap.

Maybe I'm not good, but I'm cheap.

Later still. Out the door and down the way to have lunch at the usual place - ice cream and a diet Coke - before heading on then to the supermarket to buy sake, cottage cheese, frozen corn (we're out of corn) and instant noodles. Given my diet would you expect anything less?

Back now listening to the news and firing up the guitar. Going over what I've written here so far I'm going to stop and have some of that sake and wait until my mood says what I've written has become clever, more clever that it seems to be to me right now.

Evening. The six o'clock was another Father Matteo thing I, of course, wasn't willing to watch, but it was followed by an Australian police procedural where half the main police characters are in need of psychiatric help. Which, I'm afraid, I find interesting. Maybe I like to throw silent insults at the screen. So I watched it while practicing.

To bed just after nine to take a look at Devil's Tango again, see if my earlier incoherent description holds together.