Have A Point?
Monday. It's overcast and cool this morning. The apartment is cool and I was able to sleep under blankets because I left the windows open and all that good air took advantage of the fact and came inside. The head is good. What more can I say? I haven't died, but I've gone to heaven.
Well, we've talked about the weather in terms better reserved for great sex and good photography.
Silly, ain't it? But we're older and wiser now, no need to feel foolish for our morning babble. Babble gets us up and out of bed without a thought in our head. Sixty-five years without a thought in my head: “awesome” is the only term to describe it.
I did some work on artandlife yesterday, added a page to SF Miscellaneous, re-scanned three photographs to make them larger and replaced the old smaller ones in the Dykes on Bikes section; all of this good, all of this sending signals I'm easing more comfortably into retirement.
How long is this “moving into retirement” thing going to take?
No more than another decade, I would think.
Later. “Antsy” is the best way to describe my current condition. I took a walk earlier to get out of the apartment and ended up having lunch at a local Noah's bagel shop, sitting for a while by the lake before walking back to the apartment. I've been listening to the radio - I listen too much, needing, I suspect, to spend more time contemplating in silence - nothing engaging my attention other than a Noam Chomsky interview that made me think and thinking, of course, becoming upsetting. No wonder they don't allow Chomsky anywhere near mainstream media, he'd infect half the nation. But I'm wandering here, a product of “antsy”: how to tamp down the heat, put out the flames? I'm older now, no longer any need to be tapping my foot or climbing out of my skin.
You're exaggerating.
And? You have a point?
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