This in the Chronicle this morning. Jupiter and Pluto. I might have known. I say take your good news where you can find it and the morning newspaper is as good a place as any. Jupiter and Pluto. In opposition.

Speaking of the Chronicle, there was a Scandinavian Designs ad in it this morning with a close out on beds and one of them seemed nice, so I went by and looked. Not what I wanted, but I did make the trip. Now I should go look at one of these Sleep Air things. Except the nearest store is out there somewhere near the edge of the world.

Later, in the afternoon. Mattress Discounters had an ad in the Chronicle too. I recognized the location, over near CompUSA and Office Depot. I know from MSJ that Costco has mattresses for much less in Concord, a thirty minute drive from here, but Costco doesn't deliver and Mattress Discounters, ten minutes down the block, does. So I went into the store and, like a true male shopper, flopped down on a couple of beds and wrote out a check. No haggles, maybe no regrets. A Queen size something or other brand name that I recognized, a metal frame and a bed cover (which I'd better remember is now sitting in the trunk of my car). The delivery people will take my current raggedly assed mattress away with them, but I will have to arrange with someone else to have the bed itself carted off. The salesman said he had a guy who would handle this, but, this was Saturday, and he was at the races so he'd have him call. OK. It arrives next weekend.

My procrastinations have me concerned. I'm living like a mole here in this apartment. I have the energy of a man of 99. I have a cat who yowls like a lost soul. I keep clean, well dressed (if not pressed) and the rest, but I have no energy. I've stopped walking to work, although that will start again on Monday. I did have an eye exam yesterday (ordered some fancy reading glasses), scheduled an oil change for the car and I'm going to schedule a physical next week. My program of taking a drink every day probably comes from some deeper concern that all is not well.

Of course, the job has sucked the life out of all of us since the new manager arrived, (The Piscean horoscope: Jupiter, Pluto. Isn't Jupiter the authority figure and doesn't Pluto have something to do with death?) My coworkers were acting a little crazed yesterday, the way people look when they're losing control. I checked myself in the mirror. What did I see in my own face? Dysfunctional offices do blow up, but more often they don't, they just stumble along, and even when they do blow up there's no way to predict who will survive and who will go out with the wreckage. Is this office business a part of what I'm feeling? Or am I disintegrating for more obvious stuff? Obvious to anyone else. Here in Oakland.

I spent half my vacation napping. Three more months of vacation on the beach would be nice, drinking lime drinks, getting some sun. I need to start walking to work again. I need my blankie. If I were an addict, I'd need a taste. I need to clean up my apartment, but after that summer on the beach. I see people through the windows of a Health Club on my way to work, striding in place on treadmills, headphones clamped to their heads. I wonder what they're made of, these early morning walkers, what kind of composite wonder metal runs through their bones, what are their thoughts as they tread? Perhaps it's survival of the fittest. Maybe they have the genes. I walk on. I wonder.