Saturday. Lights out again not long after nine to awaken more than once during the night, up and wide awake finally at quarter to seven after another fairly long night's rest. Which is good. I suspect. Anyway, quite light when I set out for breakfast, the farmers market people setting up their tables and tents, home taking but a single picture on the way back. Still, almost paranoia free as I was walking, the camera carried over the shoulder (and the newspapers tucked under the arm) on the way to, carried in hand on the way back (to make it more likely to be used).

I've been wondering about this “paranoia” thing after the camera theft. My life hasn't contained much in the way of paranoia, fear or “jumpiness” about making the rent or staying alive, probably because I haven't experienced much many would be paranoid about. Fearful of. Which is good I'd think. Still, how many people through circumstances or genes have lived paranoid laden lives? Fear for good reason of this and of that? My scrape with the concept through the camera is too little to talk about, but, I suspect, others have had different lives, altogether different realities through genes, chance and circumstance.

What brought that on?

You wonder, the current student mass shooting at the Oregon campus brings it up, how it is you've apparently skated through relatively unscathed by any persistent periods of paranoia while others have paid a heavier price just through the vicissitudes of life. Then again, what do I really know about it, maybe the mind is just scooting about on a weekend afternoon, making all of this up?

Maybe you'd better attempt a nap.

Later. A clear headed, but slow day. A short walk over to the lake just to say I'd gotten outside at least once. Lots of people about, warm, but a nice breeze keeping it all quite comfortable in a long sleeved shirt. Two “snapshots” of a gull taking off from the lake and flying into the wind with the older D2x mounted with a telephoto lens. Something a little different, making me wonder if the pictures would turn out and yet they did. Better than I was expecting.

Evening. And so the day has gone. Time watching this and that on the tablet, nothing much on television, putting off writing this and the section above until the next morning. Not bored, not feeling down, reasonably clear headed, but all the ambition of, well, something totally without ambition, but seemingly feeling fine if a bit perplexed.

Which means?

Probably that I'm kidding myself about this art and my life. Makes you suspect yourself if you're halfway honest about it at least. Maybe I do need to think about taking that trip to say Portland, if only as a test.

And to see how your sister and brother-in-law are doing as both you and they've been rather quiet of late?

We've been a quiet family, more from my side than others.