I Hope
Wednesday. Up with the alarm, off to breakfast and back from the usual place. I hadn't been expecting that ocular migraine last night, not that I ever expect them as such. Whatever it is I have to eat and drink at this particular place (almost always, with slight variation, the same thing) seems to bring them on. I'm not particularly upset about it, best to just go do stuff over time and let the patterns emerge that need to be avoided. Too much avoidance as it is in this phase of my life. They seem to occur less and less often, these weird little migraines, migraines that don't involve pain and usually go away after a period of a couple of years if they come to you later in life (so the doctor says).
My guitar lesson today is at eleven rather than ten, and, starting next week, will be moved to Thursdays at half past noon. So maybe I'll get in a day's practice before the lesson starts on the day it's held. Which will allow me to procrastinate even more in the week before. Hmm. They say the truth shall set you free. They say so many things, half of which I mindlessly repeat.
Later. I've been kidding myself about practicing this particular lesson properly. OK. Can't say I don't know. We'll see how it goes this coming week.
A bus downtown to have a crepe for lunch in the City Center, a walk then most of the way back home stopping for dessert. An ice cream cone, what else? A good walk, though, so that's out of the way. Excellent weather, the walk done in a long sleeved shirt without a jacket. Nice. Spring is obviously on the way. Two pictures, both of them junk, such has been my day of photographic adventure. Well, I rather like this one from this morning while waiting on my guitar lesson to start.
The tiredness I've been describing seems to have gone with stopping the inhaler, same with the foul taste in the mouth. A bit of lung congestion, but that comes and goes, so we'll see how this plays out. I suspect in a hundred years they'll look at the medical knowledge of the twentieth century in the same way we look at the medical knowledge of the nineteenth century. Still, there were earlier centuries one could have been born in. No complaints. Zip the lip.
You're out of gas.
I'm never out of gas, but yes, I'm done.
Later still. An evening watching more of the second season of Deadwood, stopping finally after eleven. What the hell, something you allow yourself every now and then (late night whoop-dee-do). The blood pressure 120 over 79 going to bed, so the reduction in the medication seems to have worked and whatever was bringing on that feeling of “tiredness” (the inhaler, I'm sure) has indeed left the premises. I hope.
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