Anyway, Sunday, no alarm, awake and up at six-thirty this time, off to breakfast and back on another bright sunny morning. Driving home I noticed what I thought seemed to be quite a few more geese than usual wandering on the lawn near the sidewalk overlooking the lake, we'll take a long lens over later and check. About right now, I'd think. It's been over an hour, maybe they've found places to hide in the shade now that the sun is beginning to heat up.

Later. A walk over to the lake with the long lens, but not finding the geese where I'd seen them earlier this morning. There was a large group farther on down by the white pergola, but whether they were the earlier group or the remaining members of a much larger gaggle that had scattered to other areas, I wouldn't know. Ho, ho.

A walk back to the apartment to lie down for a while. A bit of dozing without sleeping. Up to, well, not pace, but think. There was a touch of the dry mouth, but otherwise only one of the other symptoms I associate with the ocular migraines, a slight buzz not unlike a touch of LSD where the world comes in unfiltered and your thoughts gain an edge of unnerving dread. Just a touch, a light touch, but, you know, disturbing. Hmm. Time to take another walk, get some air.

The Nextbus app said the bus was running fifteen minutes late, so a walk along Grand, the bus catching up with me at the Broadway stop and so a ride the rest of the way downtown, even though I knew nothing would be open in the City Center. A walk through Old Town Oakland and then over to the Asian Cultural Center for an ice cream cone. Two scoops. Felt good, the head clear, but still not a jot of ambition to go see this or go see that, a walk then back to along Broadway again to Grand where I caught another bus.

I'd been carrying a camera (of course) but took not a single picture. Not a one.

The usual dialogue: should I get off at my stop or stay on and have lunch at the usual place? I had a grilled cheese sandwich and a lemonade sitting out at a table under an umbrella in the sun, the head still in a decent place, getting outside is always good for the head, probably why I do so much of it. A walk back to the apartment taking (finally) four pictures of a guy walking along the lake playing a sax. I have no idea why I decided to post all four.

So where does “a slight buzz not unlike a touch of LSD” leave us other than underlining with a jolt that we need to make changes?

For all the bitching about sinuses and such we're still in one piece, we can get up in the mornings without help, we can get about the city without a walker and we can still take pictures, so we can't say we're out of the game (of life). But something needs to change. Have I mentioned this before? I have? The memory, you know, it forgets (conveniently) when the need may arise.

Conveniently.

It's our memory, after all. Faking it a team effort.

Evening. A decent Swedish detective thing at six (they caught the bad guy - and he definitely was a bad guy) leading into Moyers & Company at eight, some guitar along the way, to bed early again unless there's something wonderful happening at nine. I'm betting on sleep.