About The Outcome
Winter, winter, what am I doing here this "winter is coming Oakland morning", feeling tired - albeit fed and well read - and thinking scattered thoughts? Listening to the radio. Skipped breakfast down at the usual cafe, but drove over and bought a paper, a breakfast burrito and orange juice at the local ersatz 7 - 11; no bath yet, maybe later, take a nap, maybe now.
Not sure why I'm so tired. With the operation coming up in a week I'm tempted to lay all things at its doorstep, but you never know. Too much living inside my head, not enough, um, not enough of something. I'm just tired. Been tired before. Long weeks at the office, maybe, the phase of the moon, the sight of a cooler sun setting sooner in the western ocean. Shit, the flu. That, or the next whatever assault on my mortality building inside. You can see my mental commotion. Skitter along the edge of it, self, deal with it as you must, but skitter off to a better mood as soon as you can. OK? Self?
Later. Well, who knows? Maybe not everything in the world is determined by the condition of my prostate. I walked down the street after a short fitful nap for a late lunch at the local sushi place and found it didn't open for another hour. So I picked up a bottle of Coke and a frozen pizza on the way back home. Comfort food. The head is clearer and the tired feeling, mind and body turned to lead feeling, has eased off into the distance. Head coming around, the afternoon nice, the temperature warm and I'm thinking, well, life is more than possible and I'm just complaining. Need an up the side of my head slap, "snap out of it!"
I forgot about the Veterans Day parade in San Francisco. I'd half thought yesterday I'd go over to shoot it, a simple BART ride that empties out on Second Street where the parade is formed. Not much luck in the past with the Veteran's parade, but this would be the last chance I have to shoot before going into the hospital. I remember the jaw operation, how I felt for some weeks after, no desire to go out in a shooting rig because I felt, I don't know, vulnerable, with a still swollen jaw and shaky step. Paranoia more than physical disability I thought at the time. We'll see how it goes when I'm walking around in a diaper (pads, my son, they call them pads). Right, pads. I can do that. You have to wear them for the first month anyway, often for the first six months even when the operation is successful. I will undoubtedly give you a blow by blow since I'll be, um, curious about the outcome.
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