My Day. A Diary of Sorts

Friday, May the Whatever Friday Was-th,

San Francisco,

11:30: I arise. The cat is pleased since he has been agitating for this for two hours. I make my bed because I am tidy and because sometimes the effort of pulling the blankets back down is all that prevents me from climbing back in.

11:35 I put in my contacts, each in the correct eye on the first try. Score! Saki helps.

11:50: I stand blankly out on the patio wondering what I'm doing there. I decide to water the plants so I can look like I know what I'm doing.

11:53 I discover the withered up thyme has come back from the dead. I shall name it Jeezuz. Or maybe Midge.

12:15: I go down to the Castro to mail something. I can now definitively report, as a retired old fart, the rumor that going to the post office is an old guys' high point of the day is true. Unless I find something good on internet Pornland.

12:17 I wander through the Castro thinking about porn.

12:20 Coffee at Peets, which may beat out porn.

12:30 San Francisco has created a charming small park by blocking off a little-used street with flatbeds holding attractive water jars filled with olive trees and flax. Locally, it's known as "Naked Guy Park" because of the smallish gang of nudists who hang out there every day. Interviews in the local press with them reveal about half of them come from little towns over in the East Bay. They are commuting nudists. They all wear hats, which I think is very odd. If you're going to be sitting around airing your bits, why are you worried about getting a sunburn on your head?

12:40 I return home to take a nap.