Forward To Success
Wednesday. To bed, as mentioned, after eleven, having watched the Maigret episode last night. Up with the alarm, actually awakening some three additional times during the night before the alarm, to then head off to breakfast and back to start the laundry (finished now at half past ten) and work on yesterday's entry, trying to get it to sound half rational and something more than a cranky screed. We make these fixes in the mornings and today's was a real tussle I'm afraid.
Sunny out there, getting warmer. There's a nap waiting and I'm thinking that breakfast pork chop is showing up in the beginnings of one of those dry mouths that's a precursor to an ocular migraine. Just a touch, just a hint, but we're more than sensitive now to any of the signs one might be approaching.
At the least I'm wondering, as I've often wondered, if a pork chop, as opposed to the usual waffle with sliced bananas and strawberries, isn't one of the foods that kicks them off. The revenge of a mistreated pig. Can't blame him (or her) from what I've read. We'll see what happens after the nap. And guitar. We are serious about wanting all the practice we can get.
Later. I did manage something of a short nap. Not sure I got any sleep, but it took some time for all the body parts to mesh when I got up. Off to the morning restaurant for lunch, a turkey sandwich, ice cream and coffee, taking my time out on their patio, a walk then back to the apartment wondering, as I was passing by the lake, where the music was coming from.
OK, mid-afternoon, it's guitar time. I'm curious to see how well it goes today, how well it may go tomorrow. One of these days, one of these days, I'm going to get this song we're been working on down in time and on the beat.
Later still. The Chronicle site says it's eighty-five degrees out there and I believe it. The fan has been cranked up, the windows are closed and I'm here circling around, if not yet quite practicing on the guitar. We're close. We're tuned up, we've run through the scales, addressed elements of the song that need addressing, but we're not quite there on the train yet, up and running.
Evening. Another Italian police procedural I've seen before at six, not remembering the ending until we reached the ending and I recognized the scene. I guess it stills gives me a kick, this not remembering the “who” in the “who done it's”, but evidently, as another actor said in a context I no longer remember: “I'm easily amused”.
To bed after nine, ready for bed, we'll see how the evening and the sleep progress. I'm tired, I'm looking forward to success.
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