Dies?

A flippant remark. The mood is good, the day ahead, I have no doubt I'll get over the bridge to visit Wilson later this afternoon. I haven't touched a camera, other than to shoot the change in gas prices this morning, didn't shoot a single self portrait yesterday in the apartment, but I believe I picked up a lens brush and dusted two of the cameras. It took all of a minute, this dusting of cameras, but it counts, right? My heart is in the right place if nothing else is in the right place and little or nothing to show for my efforts. Right?

You did watch your Korean soaps last night finishing off with the current chapter of Japanese Princess Atsu who's having trouble now that the Shogun has died.

That's true, kept me up until almost eleven, hence the sleeping in late. That and getting up a couple of times thinking I'd heard a noise in the living room. I've been crapping out lately on Saturday nights, not quite making it far enough into the evening to see how Princess Atsu's been doing (I've given up on the Japanese soaps that precede it and switched to watching her Korean competitors on the digital side of the channel).

Still, the two Korean “soaps” that come before it, starting at something like eight in the evening, are wearing me out. The women in both of these are taking a psychological beating. I'm trying to think if some of the other series I've watched show this particular turn of plot: beat up the women. Is it cultural? Do all “soaps”, including American soaps, have this in common? Is the audience primarily women and so the women tend to commiserate with this particular story line which will end, I'm assuming, with ladies triumphant? Or have I drifted into sexist territory here, not through guile, but through lack of knowledge (often called “stupidity” when you're in the mood to be accurate)? Time will tell. Whom it will tell, well, who can know?

Later. A couple of hours across the way with Wilson, he looking much better although he's clearly wrestling, reeling in blocks of memory still scattered, the conversation somewhat spacy, but our conversations have always been a little spacy, even when we've been clear headed cold stone sober. Wilson describes it an “existential conversation”, one idea encompassed in a spoken word or phrase which brings a response in the form of another word or phrase building on the original idea that leads, generally, to a halfway pleasing ending of sorts, who knows if probed we'd agree on what that end might be. Deedle-dee-dee. (Maybe I'm not the best barometer here to measure his progress.)

That doesn't necessarily sound good.

Well, he's clearly got road to travel. He knows it, he's dealing with it, he discusses it and he's beginning to become impatient. Impatient implies increasing awareness, a positive in my book. Unless it isn't.

They're moving him to another hospital Monday to start a set of rehabilitation programs to get him back on his feet, although they're saying this usually doesn't happen overnight. There were no superficial physical wounds in evidence, his attitude basically “lets pack this shit up and get the hell out of here”, all those in attendance seeing this a good sign. He's come a hell of a long way in just these short few days since my last visit.

So good. A drive back home around three in the afternoon, a run by KFC for a comfort food three piece meal with mashed potatoes and corn. It's Sunday. It's the end of the Thanksgiving weekend, a real reason to give thanks this year, I'm allowed.