In San Francisco during the 70's, although I lived in a really funky three bedroom flat on Potrero hill, I had book shelves for the books, a decent platform bed (that degenerated over time into an indecent platform bed that met its end when I moved into here) and a cat named Mouse. Amazing. I lived there, I'm not really sure I live here, which might be troubling if I gave myself the time to think about it, which I won't cause I'm busy. A busy bucko.

I had an appointment with the urologist this afternoon to discuss the higher PSA levels. He said two biopsies since last June was quite a few and let's measure and meet again in August. He didn't seem overly concerned and told me stories about patients who'd had dozens of biopsies before finding or not finding a cancer and had PSA counts orders of magnitude higher than mine. I'm thinking of getting another doctor. Meanwhile, though, I'll wait til August and think about it then. Sometimes that's the best method. Sometimes it's not. One of life's little gambles.

I ran a roll through the Nikon F3 over the weekend and the banner photograph is one of the  results. It will not get me into the photographer's hall of fame. The F3 has a built in light meter, but everything else is manual which makes you think about adjusting exposure (rotate the f stop ring until the little plus and minus sign appear in the viewfinder together, turn the lens barrel to focus on the subject. The F5 is auto focus (snick!) and auto exposure (snap!), although you still find you make adjustments (more light, less light) depending on conditions. You learn how to get results you like through experience: what needs more light, what needs less light to get your subject right. One reason I think I should stick with one model, manual or automatic, doesn't matter, just use the same instrument so you can be consistent and learn over time through experience. This is a convoluted way of saying I didn't do so hot with the F3. The F3 did not make a man out of me, deedle-dee-dee.

Things are coming together at the office. I'm thinking of working for two or three months on a schedule from one in the afternoon to nine in the evening. There are good reasons for this, but I'm also thinking, well, I can still go to bed around the same time, ten or eleven, and get up at the same time around six, but have breakfast now just down the street as I do on the weekends and then write the journal entry before walking to work (and maybe taking a cab home).

In the old days I wrote in the mornings, clearer head, I said, get those words down on paper and then I let the rest of the day take care of itself. And it did. I don't remember if it really was a good idea or not, but I generally finished writing before noon and took the rest of the day to piss off. No money, of course, writing instead of working, so pissing off couldn't be all that, you know, elaborate, but it seemed to work. Three months working late. Maybe I'm crazy.

OK, OK. It's spring. Full moon tonight. I'm thinking of digging a tripod out and taking some pictures. Just thinking.