Yes, I had three beers last night, but three beers shouldn't last through the morning, so whatever it is causing this dizziness is encouraged by alcohol. Many things, it seems, are encouraged by alcohol. I'll mention it to the doctor. He will nod his head and say nada.

Friday. Rotor - cold motor. That wouldn't survive another rewrite, but this is a journal and I'm tired, only so many rewrites allowed. I ordered three steel book cases similar to the one I have in the bedroom. Six shelves, eighty inches high, three feet wide, fifty four odd feet of space for books that I will never again read. Yes, yes, but it hurts to get rid of them. It's a self image thing, not good to mess with without solid mental underpinnings. And they will get the little bastards off the floor. I've been measuring the blank wall space in the nooks and crannies and under counters. How wide? How high? They seem to make book cases in many shapes, but I digress. They're coming by truck, a hundred pounds apiece, free shipping, but they only drop them at the door. Getting them inside, getting them up to the apartment, I'm on my own. Did this once before.

Otherwise, on this last day of your fifties?

Still dizzy, sometimes slipping over to scary. Doctor's appointment this Tuesday when he'll go over the tests they took in San Ramon. I'm obviously focused on this dizzy thing, less concerned about the job, less concerned about any other damned conceit I have including cars.

So you bought the book cases. And the studio lights?

I'll order them Sunday. Birthday gift. I'll put off thinking about a car for another month or year or ten minutes. I'm supposed to look at the Element at the Honda dealer later today since they've gotten in a four wheel drive sun roof model since I visited. I want a sun roof. Let's the air inside, you understand, let's the sun inside, clears the head when you're dizzy. Driving and dizzy.

Ah. It affects the driving?

Not yet, but I wondered there for a minute when I was on the road to San Ramon Tuesday morning for the ear tests. Best to not buy a car until I know better.

You're in a weird mood.

I've been in a weird mood for the last year, I'm not sure how weird, but weird. Not sure how strongly it comes through here, not sure how much I'm aware of it myself, but it's odd to make choices with the background thought you might not be around later this year, next year, so maybe better to think about longer term commitments.

I'm beginning to hear violins playing. Are we beginning to feel sorry for our old fart selves?

Oh, probably, just thinking out loud. Do I think this dizziness I'm experiencing is something that can't be handled by a pill? Of course not. I'm an American Baby Boomer. Everything can be fixed with a pill. In fact, as a Baby Boomer, I really don't expect to die. Cryogenics or something will come with bugles blowing at the last minute. Stem cells. Transcendental Meditation. Prozac. But you do think about these things, particularly after you've had your prostate removed. Those zinging sounds I hear are bullets, all of them, getting closer, but so far, so good.

You're getting maudlin. I can see the day outside. It's spectacular.

It is a good day, by the way, the sun shining. A walk to breakfast this morning, a drive to the local Office Max to check out book cases - none in stock so go home, order them on the web - drop by CompUSA to pick up various necessary items, back for a lunch date with a tuna fish sandwich and a Coke. How much better can it get? In Oakland?