Come February. . .

The temperature has dipped into the chilly zone.  I have a luncheon date at noon.  I may have to wear long pants and shoes.  I don't know if I have any long pants that fit me anymore.  I haven't had a pair on this year.  I'm pretty sure none will fit except for my Chinese pants with the elastic waist.  I don't mind wearing them when I'm on my own but I haven't seen my friend in a year, so I don't want to look too bummy.  The changes in my physique should be shocking enough.  

I just finished off an almond croissant with my coffee.  I began my Dry January the day after Christmas, but I didn't want to start a new diet at the same time.  I have enough going on.  I figured starting both in the same week would do me in.  

My friend asked me if I could meet her for Happy Hour, but I told her that was essentially impossible, so we made it lunch.  I'm looking forward to ceviche and gazpacho, though with the chilly weather, I may change my mind and get something good and hot.  

And a cranberry and soda.  

I've been making pictures as often as I can.  I take my camera with me everywhere I go now and am getting less shy about firing it off.  None of it is conceptual.  I'm just photographing "the world."  I have some "concepts," but I haven't the chutzpah yet to pursue them.  Nor the time, really.  Hard to do in an hour or two a day.  

I may be grabbing a break, though.  My hillbilly cousin who comes down every winter to glom free room and board off my mother is coming in January.  My mother told her not to come, that I was staying here, but my cousin whined and said she'd sleep on an air mattress on the floor.  I told my mother if she wanted her to come, I'd stay at my house and let my cousin have the bed.  I'd come over every day, of course, to set up her meds and make sure everything is going smoothly.  But, I said, she cannot come and go.  She can't decide to go stay with my cousin on the coast, for I may want to skip town for a few days.  

Oh, Lord. . . my soul for a few days respite.  

I have no confidence this is going to work out, of course, but since I don't have anything here but a travel bag, moving back in would not be difficult.  

Except mentally.  

I imagine my life again.  In my imagination, it is full of creative and spirit building stuff.  The reality will be working on my house, though. . . mulching, re-rocking driveways, painting, re-mortaring. .  . the garden.  

I'm still a bit off balance, but I have hopes that in a few more days, the displaced crystal will have dissolved.  That is one possibility I read on the Mayo Clinic site.  I have no desire to return to the gym just yet, so yesterday I walked and did some light exercising in the park with the outdoor gym.  I was very careful not to move any crystals around.  I figure with Dry January, a reduction in sweets, and daily calisthenics, I'll be looking like Brad Pitt by February.  

A boy can dream.  

Mostly, though, I want to follow up on my photo dreams.  If I could spend my nights working on cataloging my images, deciding which ones were most representative of each project and style, and experimenting with post-processes and printing, I'd be ready to. . . ready to. . . ?

I haven't a clue.  But I'd feel a whole lot better.  

How's that?  It's as chipper as I can be right now.  Not bad.  

Now I must prepare my mother's breakfast and get her set up for the day.  I need to get back to my house and see if anything fits.  Ha!  We all know nothing will.  All we have to do, though, is wait for February when I'll be trim and fit as a fucking fiddle!

I'll write my tribute to Bridget Bardot tomorrow, perhaps.  I've been meaning to.  I've never minded the difference that the XX/XY genetic thing has created.  I've watched all the nature shows.  Mammals are like that, you know.  Nature rather than nurture.  Mama bears are fierce, but the boys still find them sexy.  They have to work hard, though, to get accepted.  Not every male gets a mate.  Indeed. . . inevitably the female choose one with. . . money?  Charm?  A sweet smile?  A pleasant disposition?  The one with the biggest muscles?  Science will tell you one thing, but we all know it is a mystery.  There are just some things a boy can't understand.  

Etc.