The Heavily Sedated
PISCES (Feb. 18-March 19): Those pretty pink gloves come off as Mars (Mr. Aggressive) continues to throw his weight around your sign. Surprisingly, this newfound feistiness actually enhances your appeal. The phone rings off the hook for you. Everyone wants a piece, in more ways than one. For once, what you yourself want is also clear. You'll have lots to be thankful for on Turkey Day. Not that you'll care to share all of it.
Pretty pink gloves? Who writes these things? But that's the way we started yesterday, is it not? This one is by someone named Minerva in today's Sunday Chronicle, yesterday's was by someone named Christopher Renstrom (in yesterday's Chronicle) and for all I know they're both written (in Mumbai India) by an out sourced consortium of fakirs, faith healers and ex-Cobol programmers looking for fame and fortune with an Internet franchise. Still. Sounds good. I'll go with it.
This episode with the bobbled PSA test - "My, my, it seems too high." - and continuing improvement of the vertigo - other symptom stuff probably means I should shift gears and get on with it. I have no better answers about changing the job or creating new life objectives, but I now feel I can leave the apartment and go looking around without falling on my face. Bad enough the job market's tanked, worse yet when you know you're going to an interview with your head in a bucket. So. Onward.
Later. A bus ride downtown, maybe this is the day to take BART over to San Francisco - How long has it been since I've been to San Francisco? - enter the station, take the stairs down to the train, do I want to go to San Francisco? Really? The Embarcadero exit, maybe, take a walk along the waterfront, but no, back up the escalator, re-enter the Oakland streets. Walk down to the converted gas station coffee shop across from the police station just up from Jack London Square for a cup of coffee. Why did I not continue to San Francisco?
Jack London Square itself, a medium crowd, a Farmer's market - Artist's market Sunday, something about foster children hosted by one of the radio stations on the stage beside Barnes and Noble in the near distance, a woman's voice floating over the gathering reading the ages of children who were waiting to be adopted, a totally laudable venture, but done in a voice only tolerated by the truly committed and the heavily sedated.
What does that mean? The voice?
I'm not sure. You'd recognize it, though. The woman's voice you hear drifting off in the white noise of an operating theater. Not something you're expecting sitting outdoors at a table. A walk over three blocks on 3rd when I see a hand printed sign advertising an artist's exhibit. A walk back to the City Center, a baked potato and burger at Wendy's before taking the bus home. Many miles of walking, muscles sore, shooting maybe three pictures. Excitement on a Sunday, alive and well, here in Oakland.
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