Got the photos in the queue for flickr, but they weren't done by the time I needed to roll in to the dayjob. Picture tonight then.
No hormone soup today and aside from an upset stomach and lack of sleep, I feel pretty good.
Morning was the kind where the pale sun washes out the eastern horizon to white, no sign of blue, leaving the world looking faded and lacking in contrast. It's warmer and the wind, for the moment, hasn't picked up. It will later I'm sure.
Had a dream about people I haven't seen in years. It's staying with me a little, I'm not sure why. A rather twisted nostalgia for places I've never been and people I haven't seen in so long that gods alone know if we'd recognize each other if we met on the street.
And for today's non-sequiter, Don Henley is (for me) a writer of quintessentially Los Angeles songs. I've always loved Boys of Summer and Sunset Grill, but until you live here? You get the sadness, but only the surface. Here, I get it deeper. The girl with her hair pulled back and those sunglasses on. The basket people mumbling. The auburn sky.
It fit the twisted nostalgia I woke up with.
Don't look back, you can never look back.
But I always do.
No hormone soup today and aside from an upset stomach and lack of sleep, I feel pretty good.
Morning was the kind where the pale sun washes out the eastern horizon to white, no sign of blue, leaving the world looking faded and lacking in contrast. It's warmer and the wind, for the moment, hasn't picked up. It will later I'm sure.
Had a dream about people I haven't seen in years. It's staying with me a little, I'm not sure why. A rather twisted nostalgia for places I've never been and people I haven't seen in so long that gods alone know if we'd recognize each other if we met on the street.
And for today's non-sequiter, Don Henley is (for me) a writer of quintessentially Los Angeles songs. I've always loved Boys of Summer and Sunset Grill, but until you live here? You get the sadness, but only the surface. Here, I get it deeper. The girl with her hair pulled back and those sunglasses on. The basket people mumbling. The auburn sky.
It fit the twisted nostalgia I woke up with.
Don't look back, you can never look back.
But I always do.