I Certainly Don't
Thursday. Bright sun, good breakfast, home now at eight. When has a day started like this in the past? Indeed. Most if not all. We are here where we've been so many times before, thinking this and that, as we start our rambling journal. The mood is good, I wouldn't put all this gibberish down on paper (or up on a screen) if I didn't enjoy it, free form stream of consciousness stuff without thinking too much about what it means one way or another. I do try to integrate decent rhythm with such things as recognizable subjects, objects and verbs. Too many adjectives, of course, and I need to avoid adverbs.
You might put a little more work in on your commas and semicolons too; there are rules about placement and such, none of which unfortunately can be found in our sentence structure.
The new shoes spent the night being stretched out by shoe trees, although wearing them to breakfast makes me think little was accomplished. But we'll see, they're stretching on the bedroom floor as I speak, time in a wooden rack is known to eventually produce wonders if you're trying to break something's back. Stretch something's back. Get a confession out of them that will play well in the press. Whatever. We're too rapidly drifting here into places I don't want to visit, best to start over again.
Later. A bus downtown, coffee on the patio in front of Peet's (because this early in the morning it's the only place in the sun), a picture of a tree beckoning, a walk then back to the apartment, the day crystal clear wearing these new sun glasses. Almost a shock, these glasses, as if rain had cleared the air and everything was razor sharp in almost unnatural color. Again, why had I not gotten a pair of these sooner? The fact they cost four times as much as the last pair? Might be a factor, I wouldn't deny it, although after this experience it won't be in the future.
So it's noon, the sun still ascendant, the laundry in the washer. I managed to spill coffee on my pants as I was walking back, a light blue pair of jeans that really showed the stain. Dark roast indeed. You think in terms of jeans as, well, rough and ready and able to absorb punishment, coffee qualifying as punishment, but I suspect, for the look of it, this (new) pair is going to show brown about the knee for the rest of its existence. And knowing me, it's going to show it for a long time. Excitement already, and it's still before noon!
OK, the pre-spray I used on the spot seems to have done the trick, at least I couldn't find the stain when I took them out of the washer. Unless I was looking at the wrong pair. Wouldn't surprise me if I had. We'll know soon enough when the drying is done, sitting here on pins and needles.
You're sitting here writing about coffee stains? Coffee stains?
Maybe the day, maybe the season, maybe the phase of the moon. I don't track the phase of the moon, perhaps an error. Coordinate your reality with a waxing moon, a waning moon, and, my bucko, life will be swell. Life is swell, I'm just, well, I've not figured out what to do with my afternoons. The mornings seem tight, I have Merlot, sake and Korean soaps in the evenings (who could possibly top that?), there's just, I don't know, something missing between noon and four.
Yachting comes to mind of course, I'm sure it was your first thought as well, but I don't own a yacht and never really learned to like rough water. Photography sometimes intervenes, but photography is best done in early morning and late evening light. Sex with super models has its appeal, but then so does flying like Superman. Noon and four. Canasta? Bridge? Polka dancing at the local old folks’ polka club?
That's me running out of gas. A somewhat promising start this morning and then the sand runs out. A nap, maybe, something to recharge these old batteries here in Oakland. Either that or just shut up.
Later still. Sitting here late in the afternoon, my various news programs droning on in the background. Between two and six. I hadn't thought of that, my habit of listening to the news in the afternoon. No wonder I'm having trouble. The national news? The international news? The food fights in San Francisco? The death spiral in Oakland? (That's not true about Oakland, but the current fashion is political hyperbole, the more hyperbolic the better.) Fooey. Pay no attention. I certainly don't.