What's "easy" keeps changing.
Then again, every day is different. That's, you know, life.
But things even as simple as "let's go to the oculist and pick up my new glasses" is suddenly not easy. Something's up, or wrong, or I'm in pain, or ... well, something, but it's suddenly a bad idea to leave the house. Bed.
I take a great deal of joy simply sitting in the back garden and watching the plants and the birds and the honey bees and the squirrels and the cat and... you know, life. Except it's not a good idea to leave the bed, it seems. I get up, into the wheelchair, and ... nope. Couldn't even make it that far. Back to bed.
Much of this I blame on elimination problems. Alan the Bladder has his own ideas. Colon, for whom I haven't found a non-obscene name, has its own ideas. Everything has it's own ideas.
Yeah, I know, just like life and all.
I'm hoping to make it to the oculist's today. I'm going to snag a snack, another cup of pu-erh, and hope for the best with the morning's ... necessaries, shall we call them delicately.
Perhaps I'll even write some more music. Some got written yesterday, quite well too. But when you're writing music about boats in the ocean, for a big-ass band, it takes a lot of notes. A lot of notes.
So that's all the time I have at this moment. Off to... well, have what needs to happen happen without too much discomfort, and with enough success so that it can actually fit into the category of "happened."
Here in southern California, the fake-summer heat has receded, and it's back to definitely spring. I hope I can get out into it today and actually enjoy it. It is quite wonderful.
Just like, you know...