Well, maybe not a note to start a day on after breakfast, looking through the window at the early morning sun. Another good night's sleep: to bed at nine thirty, up at quarter to six. Maybe push bed out later to ten. I seem to be getting comfortable with turning in at nine-thirty, nodding off soon after less a problem, the body now waking up earlier each morning on its own. Awake at six is fine. Get up at six, out the door at six-thirty, arrive and seated at the morning café, coffee at hand, fifteen minutes before seven. Plenty of time then to eat breakfast, read the papers and leave before a meter maid arrives. As I did this morning.

I'm concerned about these afternoons. Yesterday, and this is not unusual, the head was fuzzy to say the least after I returned from my walk and fuzzier still through the rest of the afternoon. Writing this was slow and painful and I was concerned the narrative had gone well over the edge into gibberish without being able to fuzzy headed tell. There's a thin line between coherence and gibberish, if the truth be known, more a matter of editing than anything else. So I go back and delete. Did those paragraphs on the length of my hair, now that I'm letting it grow, make any sense to include? I mean, my hair? I'm writing about hair? And so I rewrite, change direction and deflection but still sit with musings on the Bakesale Betty's of this world. I've never been to a Bakesale Betty's. I've read about Bakesale Betty's, had a photographer friend create a Flickr group on Bakesale Betty's, but why in the hell am I writing about Bakesale Betty's at all?

It's early morning. I don't think you need to wait for the afternoon anymore.

Around and around. Maybe a walk. Now.

Later. Noon. Back after a bus ride downtown and a walk home, finally taking a picture or two of Bakesale Betty's as I passed, a line beginning to form as the noon hour approached. No signs, nothing to show who they were in the windows, a line of ironing boards and cobbled together benches for sidewalk tables like the ones at their original site. How cool is that? Maybe too cool.

A decent outing, one or two muscles letting me know they've been used, a Fed Ex tag on my door to let me know they'd been by with my PhotoShop upgrade and they'd return in the morning. That's good, I guess. A Windows upgrade, a PhotoShop upgrade and a Dreamweaver upgrade coming. Blows this retiree's budget for the month, but that's nothing new.

The head is still relatively clear. An experiment, this morning. I do wrestle with this fuzzy headed feeling, this aching sinus-upper palate thing that's been going on now for years, for which I've been taking pain meds. Have been for some time. They aren't addictive, at least, when I've stopped in the past they haven't called out to me from the tomb. You don't want things calling out to you from the tomb. Still, some people evidently become addicted, it says so on the web, and there are a list of side effects including “fuzzy headedness”.

Well, they warn against “constipation; diarrhea; dizziness; drowsiness; dry mouth; headache; nausea; trouble sleeping; vomiting; weakness” and go on to suggest you call a doctor if you experience “severe allergic reactions (rash; hives; itching; difficulty breathing; tightness in the chest; swelling of the mouth, face, lips, or tongue); agitation; chest pain; difficult or painful urination; disorientation; fainting; hallucinations; irregular heartbeat; loss of coordination; mood or mental changes (e.g, depression); red, blistered, swollen, or peeling skin; seizures; severe dizziness or lightheadedness”. I'd forgotten about the “hallucinations”, not that I've had that many and then only in the very late afternoons.

One would think you'd have looked at this before now. Seems a bit remiss, don't you think? Dumbo?

Could be. Anyway, I ran out of them this morning, took the last dose yesterday afternoon. A refill is on the way, but I'm thinking of skipping them for say a week and see. Am I a “fuzzy headed druggie” or do I come by my fuzzy headedness naturally, a function of getting old? I know, strange questions to be asking, but then I've never been this old before or taken pain pills for so long. Taking them has become a habit, twice a day whether needed or not. Sounds like something you'd do with a fuzzy head, take them, needed or not.

I believe we digress.

I believe we do.

Anyway, whatever's going on, the head is still relatively clear at one in the afternoon. The walk, as mentioned, turned out well, although I initially fought setting out, going down to the bus stop and then thinking I've done this before, why now, why today, why ever? So I returned to the apartment as the bus arrived. And then another trip to the stop twenty minutes later and the bus downtown, thinking, well, maybe BART to San Francisco, walk around the Embarcadero, that would be (somewhat) different.

Ended up having coffee at Peet's (when have I done that before) the attitude better. A picture of the Kangaroo/Monkey Paw in front of the building. They seem to have survived the winter. A walk then to the City Center to hit the ATM and again, sit at one of their tables for a while. The walk back home passing Bakesale Betty's, a picture of the park by the lake, nothing spectacular, a sparkling cider and a cookie this time at a sidewalk table in front of Coffee With a Beat. Not so bad, was my thought.

Later still. Tired. Does tired count as fuzzy headed? The sinus-upper palate hurts. Which means the pain meds actually do something useful from the feel of it. Otherwise, a drive over to the usual café for lunch around two (hungry today, probably put on some weight for a change) with a spiral bound notebook to scribble out a paragraph or two for Ms M., something I've been putting off now for much too long. Well, I'd actually gotten most of it done but I was thinking it would be nice to sit outside with an old fashioned notebook and finish it under the sun. I did get some of it done.

I also owe Mr D. a screed on Seagull, a magazine done in our misspent university years as he's planning to publish it as a part of his folio series. Nothing like having old friends who own a letterpress shop, hobby or not. I've started a draft, Seagull in peace and war, something to get the brain going, so it won't take all that much more to produce the promised twelve hundred words. But let's finish Ms M.'s paragraphs first, see if this fuzzy head has left any facility I might have had with words.

Seagull? Magazine?

“Promise her anything, but give her the bird!”

I get the idea you haven't changed very much.