The AMTRAK trains are late this morning. That’s not a surprise. In Ashland, a “rail fan”,camera mounted on a tripod,waits for #89, the South bound Palmetto to pass through town,on the way to Richmond and, ultimately, to Savannah. Out inLa Plata, the East bound Southwest Chief is two hours late.
This is my second go-round at being “up”. I’m yawning, enduring a sinus headache, and uncomfortable sitting up. Truth be told, I could sleep a little longer.
Last night, when J returned from work, she was watching a PBS documentary on Zorah Neale Hurston. The story addressed sex and class and race, somehow making the life of a fascinating person, a drama of victimhood, rather than achievement. But, hey, it’s television. At one in the morning, I just want sleep.
I’m obsessing a little less about food. Food has always been more an intrusion than a pleasure. The questions, “What am I gonna eat?And when?” seem to be omnipresent
After several hours’ hiatus, I’m back at this post. I’ve felt generally tired all day. Today was spring-like. I regret lacking the energy to do much of anything outdoors.
J is resting now also. She sleeps with the TV on. Maddening.
Old Men Just Wanna Have Fun.
(But you knew that already.)