Epitaph Of Sorts
Monday. To bed last night fairly late - after ten-thirty anyway - up this morning with the alarm seemingly starting the day on the beat. As overcast out there as it was yesterday, the sun not showing itself in San Francisco until the early afternoon, maybe today will be a repeat. No complaints, I still have quite a bit of work left to get the photographs in order and will undoubtedly spend the morning and then much of the afternoon at the computer. Lucky me. Actually. I do seem to enjoy it, although it too can become old once you've done it continuously without a break for many hours.
Life is hard.
“Isn't it, though”, he said, pouring himself another sake out on the veranda, a dying sun setting slowly into the distant sea, Ms. Applebutter moving her finger absently along her open lips. “Hard.”, she said.
I take it that's your way of saying you understand you have “no complaints”?
A bit awkward in the phrasing, but I'm not completely blind to how well this life has gone, given so many of the observed alternatives.
All gleaned from newspaper stories, no doubt, those “observed alternatives”.
Later. A walk over to the morning restaurant around noon for a scoop of ice cream and a bagel with cream cheese. I was hungry and needed a break. Tomorrow morning I'll go by the supermarket after breakfast and get some real food, lunch makings more amenable to digestion and a longer life. But that's tomorrow. No pictures today really. The lake was pretty much empty of birds other than the usual gulls. I assume the gulls are locals, the bulk of the others with longer and more interesting names landing and staying to gain their breath for however long before continuing on their migratory flights.
Back to Sunday's photographs. I'm ambivalent about them, their technical quality, their aesthetic chops. Not unusual after you've been with them so long under the hood. Still, they're done and I'm done. Guitar practice starting about now and that will be about it, but a good day, none the less.
Evening. That pretty much describes the day. I finished the George Clooney movie (The American) and found it light and quite depressing. I wonder how they sold themselves on that particular script? Hi, ho. I put another movie in the box and it failed about three minutes in. I've had a number of these damaged disks from Netflix. Could be my player, of course, but I'm suspecting the player isn't the culprit. Anyway, barely enough guitar, but barely enough is enough, to bed again later than I like.
For someone who says he doesn't like to go to bed late, you do go to bed late a lot.
Tends to arrive to early to his appointments, yet often gets to bed late a lot. An epitaph of sorts.
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