My Past
Saturday. So, a run downtown after breakfast to pick up various drugs and medications at the local Rite Aid, a trip over to Berkeley for cat food (Ms. Emmy has been explaining my many faults in feeding her but dry cat food these last three days), a nap (a nice nap), a run to Safeway for a bottle of sake and cheese and crackers (my resolve on cheese and crackers having failed me at the critical moment, we'll see about the sake in the next couple of hours).
It's a Saturday, an evening of Japanese soaps I said I believed were made for small children, but then in a flash of insight I wondered if they weren't simply older and therefor cheaper programs that channel 26 was able to afford (they run half hour segements paid for by the makers of wonder grass vitamin supplements and wrinkle removing miracles more often than I care to think about). Have these been made for twenty-first century children or adults lost in the 1970's? Adults who were still trapped in an evolving post war culture that fed them an unremitting barrage of toe the line propoganda that would lead to the youth and style revolutions of the nineties? Probably not, very few things are that simple, but if I fiddle with this long enough I'll come up with a rationale for my interest in them that I can live with when I'm challenged.
Challenged by whom?
Challenged by meem. Which is the problem.
Still, a Saturday night and for whatever reason I do enjoy Saturday nights: a heightened awareness of my surroundings, a bite in the air even if there isn't a bite in the air, a need to listen to rock and roll music even if there's no reason to listen to rock and roll music. A rememberance of the past? Hard to remember the past. My past.
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