That doesn't mean the cough is gone. I awoke with a cough and a runny nose, something that's been going on for a long time now, the cough goes away and the nose dries up by breakfast. It's getting better. Yes it is, but slowly. I'm sitting here now at the computer a quarter after eight with settled lungs and nose, the sun breaking through the clouds. A warm day ahead, no doubt. Another day of naps? Hard to say this early but my guess is not. That hang dog close to sleep feeling is not here.

I go on and on, of course, this cough, that operation. I'm wondering if it isn't really more about a certain fogginess that comes with age. That age number has become more daunting. I've wondered about the journal, if the subject matter and the nattering are being affected by a certain dimness in the bulb. I mentioned I made the task of backing up a bunch of photographs to DVD's yesterday more complicated than it should. Yes, the CD label printer was having problems that resulted in making many frustrating tries to get a label printed, but there was a certain level of mix up getting the right files matched with the right labels too and, well, you begin to understand. A certain fogginess I'm not sure existed, say, ten years ago. Not a thought that dominates, but one I have. On occasion. Noticing, you know, “things”.

Now thoughts about the day, this day. Any real need to have a plan at eight in the morning? I've had breakfast, I've read the papers, the various systems in the body have come or are coming online. It's Sunday, plenty of places to go for a walk, take the car if I like to start one off, head for Jack London Square, for example, something I do a lot with apparent pleasure except when I don't. Why even think about it? Why worry? If the impulse appears at say noon, then, fine. If it doesn't, well then, fine too. Don't write about it here. Have a peach, have a plum, take a cat food run. Chill. Let it flow. Ho, ho.

Later. You let the mind go blank, you futz around with whatever is in front of you and you find your mind suddenly engaged. In my case something that's engaged it in the recent past, where work-play was done and then (temporarily) placed on hold. The small lights in this case. Something I've played with and written about and done things with, but nothing that led to, you know, progress of a kind that would show.

I last left the small lights waiting on the release of the Nikon specific Pocket Wizard radio slaves, something they've announced and not yet released. Not that I need them, by the way. Plenty to do the way they're tied together now, at least for anyone shooting in their living room. But that's what happened just now, stumbling across a story in Strobist. A fire lit for an hour, a day? Doesn't matter. The boys, their toys and attention spans. Subjects for dissertations by and for the more focused, those who don't drop the ball.

That lasted about four minutes, not counting the time it took to write the paragraph. Still, it got the brain going, caused me to read my usual suspects on the web with some interest, a certain energy injected. Into the mechanism. Life in the fast lane is life in the fast lane no matter the method.

We are drifting into incoherence again.

Of course, but it's Sunday. What the hell.

Odd though how the same scene, the same apartment, the same walk down the way can look fetid and uninspiring at one moment and then alive with possibilities the next. We are obviously in the betwixt and between, I'm hoping for not all that much longer. Not for the rest of my life certainly. Not that long (or that short comes the obvious thought). Another month or so? Another week? How about another day or until this afternoon? I could take having all revealed and in its place this afternoon, celebrate with a bit of the remaining sake this evening? Maybe watch a Korean soap?