Come the Morning
Tuesday. Well, it's obvious no one is serious around here as I got to bed after eleven after catching the last half of a Helen Mirren Prime Suspect on PBS last night having said in yesterday's entry I was going to get to bed early. Incongruously, but not surprisingly, I awoke well before the alarm at five to get up and off to breakfast by six. Gave me more than enough time, for a change, to finish all three papers, but we'll see if we don't pay for this later after our haircut appointment at ten. Diddle-dee-den. Falling asleep in the chair as our hair is being clipped?
You don't seem to be taking this all that seriously.
You've been reading this for how long and you haven't figured that out yet? The fact we are out here stumbling in the weeds doesn't mean we can't keep our sense of the ridiculous while we're on the trip.
Later. A bus downtown to the ATM and then on to the haircut, swinging by the pharmacy for two large bottles of pills (life becomes more complicated as you grow older) and then walking most of the way back home before catching a passing bus for the last half mile. So good. Feel pretty good, whatever sleep I might have gotten last night.
A thought, in the early afternoon, to walk over to the morning café for lunch, but crapped out about halfway there. I wasn't hungry, I couldn't think of anything I wanted to eat, I wasn't in the mood, I wasn't whatever, so I returned to the apartment and finished off the Folsom Street pictures before six. Phew! You'd say phew! too if you knew how much effort it took.
Evening. I played along on the guitar starting at six while watching another Maigret for an hour and a half, found little on television that I was interested in after and so went to bed at half past eight. We'll see how long it took to get to sleep and when we awakened come the morning.
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