The Visible Woman...May 12, 2003

A day in which I don't seem to accomplish much but I decide that everyone needs 'ordinary days.'

Some days you set yourself up for disappointment by expecting a lot. My dad says you should get one thing done every day and feel satisfied. I suppose. Usually I can rattle off a list of tiny accomplishments. But I feel I got nothing done. Today I decided that it was an ordinary day and I should accomplish an ordinary amount.

Therefore I was happy that I got my workout, finished my dental work for a while, got Dad's TV working (old folks don't understand that every computer, which a set top box is surely one, needs a boot now and then), found some pictures at my Dad's to scan, got his agreement to take a CPR class with me, scanned a picture for FFP, delivered some stuff for FFP, called the utility companies about our building, called a friend to spread the word on the building and put in a word for a friend's kid for a job, agreed to be a sub on a tennis team in the fall, read all the day's newspapers and then some (well, at least glanced at them), worked the NY Times crossword, ran the dishwasher and put away dishes, got a 'thank you' note off in the mail, signed up to get electronic distribution of annual reports and stuff, fed myself and cleaned up after myself, conceived a scheme of organizing the rest of Mom's stuff and, of course, produced my journal. Of course.

So, it was an ordinary day. But it's not like I didn't do anything.

a most unusual home "He's a wonderful talker, who has the art of telling you nothing in a great harangue." Molière, Le Misanthrope	ordinary day A day in which I don't seem to accomplish much but I decide that everyone needs 'ordinary days.' Some days you set yourself up for disappointment by expecting a lot. My dad says you should get one thing done every day and feel satisfied. I suppose. Usually I can rattle off a list of tiny accomplishments. But I feel I got nothing done. Today I decided that it was an ordinary day and I should accomplish an ordinary amount. Therefore I was happy that I got my workout, finished my dental work for a while, got Dad's TV working (old folks don't understand that every computer, which a set top box is surely one, needs a boot now and then), found some pictures at my Dad's to scan, got his agreement to take a CPR class with me, scanned a picture for FFP, delivered some stuff for FFP, called the utility companies about our building, called a friend to spread the word on the building and put in a word for a friend's kid for a job, agreed to be a sub on a tennis team in the fall, read all the day's newspapers and then some (well, at least glanced at them), worked the NY Times crossword, ran the dishwasher and put away dishes, got a 'thank you' note off in the mail, signed up to get electronic distribution of annual reports and stuff, fed myself and cleaned up after myself, conceived a scheme of organizing the rest of Mom's stuff and, of course, produced my journal. Of course. So, it was an ordinary day. But it's not like I didn't do anything.
JUST TYPING The nature of ordinary. Is that You don't feel Accomplished Lucky Exalted By doing it. However. Neglect the ordinary And most of your life disappears.
		Food Diary. coffee 12:30 Two bowls of rice, chopped up chicken, onion, cheese and salsa. Water. 6:30 Two bowls of salad with arugula, cheese, fatty dressing, onion, carrots, broccoli. A cheese roll. Some chips and cheese and hot sauce. 11ish Strawberries.
		Time flies.... Got up about 7:30, got dressed to go to club. Worked on my journal, downloaded some pix, talked to FFP about building and stuff. 10:08 leave home to make deliveries for FFP and go to club. 10:35 arrive at club 12:10 leave club 12:20 home check e-mail and so forth eat lunch shower, dress 1:30 leave for dentist 2:00 get in Dentist's chair. They scrape permanent cement off the temp, glue in my gold crown, clean up. 2:40 leave dentist, call Dad At Dad's I discuss food I'll make for his games day at church this week, get his cable working again, go through some pictures my mom kept looking for some of her weaving, look through some of the sewing stuff deciding how to organize it. By 4pm I'm home, dealing with switching the utilities on our building to our account while I rent or sell it. I also sign up online to get the annual reports that have been littering the house lately sent electronically. I scan a picture for Forrest and remove shadows. By 6:30, I'm eating salad and watching Millionaire. We watch Boston Public and CSI. In the gap between, I surf the movies playing. I read the newspaper. Late, too late, we watch a documentary on Cirque du Soleil and fall asleep.

		Reading. I am still reading Robert Massie's Peter the Great. I am still reading Journey Through Genius in small bites. I read bits of newspaper, of course.
		Who writes? What? What if I were writing stuff and not telling my journal? Yeah, you know me. That's the problem. I can't edit. I can't be incomplete. I can't lead the unexamined life. And writing is editing. This is just a core dump.
		Exercise 15 minutes rowing ergometer lower body and arm workout some abs and back 15 minutes recumbent bike
		Physically I feel fine. 110/70 80

Monday, May 12, 2003

A Journal from Austin, Texas. A Project of LBFFP Stealth Publishing.