Sunday, May 4, 2003

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A Journal from Austin, Texas.
A Project of LBFFP Stealth Publishing.

 

 

a candle per decade

 

 

 

"Any human movement, whether it springs from an intellectual or even a natural impulse, is impeded in its unfolding by the boundless resistance of the outside world."

Walter Benjamin, One-Way Street

 

 

 

 

 

 

finding time

We have made an appointment to show someone the building we need to rent or sell at 10AM. So I get up and have coffee and fool around with my journal. (I read journalers who recount almost their every move but never mention that they spend time on the journal. But, of course, they must. And, why, really, would they need to mention it? What's wrong with me)

We meet these guys (one is a massage therapist and the other a hairdresser) who are interested in buying a building for their businesses. We are not all that familiar with the property any more, we are looking around ourselves, figuring it out. We tell them we will know more about what we are willing to do in a couple of days. They are nice guys, introduced to us by a business associate of ours.

We go home and decide we will go to an Octopus party. Actually there was a run/walk and there will be a brunch. We just go for the brunch. The Octopus club is a set of parties with suggested donations. All the arrangements and expenses are borne by the Octopi. The donations all goes to a fund for emergency rent, food, drugs, etc. for people living with HIV and AIDS. We've been to a number of these events but not been to one in a while.

I eat too much guacamole and migas. I eat some strawberries. I drink coffee. A lot of the people have done the walk/run. I need some exercise today. So, yeah, I ate too much. We saw a few people we knew and met a few people.

We go home. I work on my journal and read some Dorothy Parker poems. I have had enough caffeine so that I don't put my head in my hands. Dad calls. He sounds hoarse and sniffly. He is sick, he declares. He told me he didn't feel well yesterday. He is staying in and tells me to stay away until he feels better. I offer to bring him something but he says he has plenty of food and juice and such.

FFP goes to the gym. I want my food to settle a bit.

I read a little. An old PC Magazine. (About a year old.)

I go to the gym. I ride an alleged twenty miles on the exercise bike which takes a little over fifty minutes. Let me say that this bike has 'resistance' settings from zero to twelve. I always start on one then go to two. I'll go to three for a few minutes here and there then back to two. So I imagine that if this is anything like actual biking it is like biking on virtually flat ground. Just so you know. I use a mat to do a few ab exercises. I hate them. But you knew that.

While on the bike, I think of a new way to organize my journal. See...I write everything in here (excepting intimate stuff and stuff I forget, subject to the day's artbitrary mores and memory). Everything I can think of that I eat or drink, what exercise I do. I write down conversations I remember, what I read, how I spend my time. If I have a few paragraphs of coherent thought, I throw that in. If I'm in a good mood or bad or have a health issue, I might mention it.

Of course, the left column has been given over to a visual of some sort, perhaps shot the day of the entry, perhaps not, perhaps stolen, perhaps not. Sometimes pix appear in this column, too. There is the quote feature (sometimes they are relevant even). And Just Typing where free verse meats free range chicken. (Actually, this is where I use the keyboard as therapy.)

So, what I'm getting at is, I'm wondering if all my readers (all two or three of you) will be better served and, indeed, if I'll be better served later if I do institute further categories on each day's page.

What I'm thinking is this. Each day would have a food and drink diary, a chronology (where did the time go), a reading report, a writing report, an exercise journal and a mood and health info. Finally, if I actually had a coherent thought of a paragraph or two, I could write that. What a boon this would be to readers. Hate reading about organ meat? Ignore the food diary. Don't give a whit about how many minutes I ride the exercise bike? Never touch the excersie report.

In point of fact, I have spared my readers for some time having to know day after day what the talking scale said to me. (Yes, I have a talking scale. You turn it on with your toe, it tells you to push your memory number and you do (with your toe) and you climb aboard. It says, "You weight is...whatver." Then if you've gained or lost since you last visited it mentions that. They it says, "Have a nice day." And I generally record this info here but I've stuck it away where it doens't bother anyone.

When I get home from the gym, I'm strangely energized about this new possibility for organizing the page. Silly, huh? FFP is sleeping in THE ROOM in his chair. I decide the new look needs new grahpics and waste time on that.

We are going to a birthday party. So I finally shower up and put on a suit and we go to Four Seasons. It's our friend's seventieth birthday. Wow! I feel young. They have the tables decorated with cheap wine (Boone's Farm, box wine, etc.) but they are serving very excellent stuff from the guy's cellar. And good food. They have big pix of the guy at different ages and they have a slide show of pictures of him and kids and stuff. It's a nice party.

We come home and watch some TV. Maybe, just maybe I had too much wine. I go to sleep.

 

 

 

 

 
 

 

JUST TYPING
Getting things done.
Accomplishment.
Time
Applied
Successfully
To a Problem
Of one's own making.

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