They’re all carefully ensconced in their paper shrouds. Likewise, the weekend is all finished up. Pretty darn tasty, too. At least the caramels are.

Caramel posts twice in a row? Life isn’t all about variety. There’s sadly a whole bunch of repetition. Besides, I don’t have much to share that’s special about today.

Breakfast, wrapped caramels, talked to my mom, napped with Janie, laundry, knitted a heel flap, two loads of laundry and a bunch of trash TV. Not my most memorable Sunday. Much on my mind. Much more to do.

In the meantime, Let’s be optimistic, by Marc Johns

I meant to post this last night, so I could keep with my daily-ish typing habit. It was going to be a whiney “I work too late” post, but who doesn’t these days? It doesn’t make for great reading or compelling content. But it keeps the reflection up, although I don’t want to wallow in less-than-stellar feelings or preserve their memory too often.

Now, the post won’t descend into a “I failed at typing regularly (again)” self-pity. Before I fell asleep in front of the TV (only to awake at 12:20), I knew that I was going to type something, so that’s a win. I made time for the picture, but chose to eat dinner and veg out in front of the idiot box before zonking out. Having a perfect record is not really the purpose of making a little time to tend to my thought garden.

This takes us to today. Saturday morning. Some typing around 8:00am. Perhaps there will be more this afternoon or tonight. Perhaps not. No one’s counting except for me. I’m luck enough to have you reader friends who peek in here. The comments you guys so generously leave brighten my day. And you quiet ones, I feel you too.

Thank you for reading this poorly-constructed, phone-typo-riddled stream-of-conscious drivel. Right now it’s just about quantity and oiling rusty forgotten habits. Pardon the diary-rhea for the time being.

Dinner with a long-lost friend tonight in the Mission. She wrote me last-minute to say she was in town from Hood River, OR. Even though it’s been three or so years, I wouldn’t miss a meal with her. We spent too many hours on the phone, daily, during my time at CLIF Bar. A good friend indeed.

Weirdfish is one of my favorite restaurants in San Francisco. Why so? Decor, people, commitment to sustainability, vegan options and the fun they have with the menu. I enjoyed the suspicious fish tonight, which the waiter barely describes to gives a sketch of the meal but you don’t know specifics until the plate arrives. Heck, it’s only my fourth or so time there and I still haven’t tried the fried dill pickles. I need to go more often.

Going over life and career changes, talking about kids growing up and sharing future dreams, it was just like old days. It was also a reminder of how terrible I am at keeping in touch with past friends. I have plenty of stationery, a box-full of cards and fountain pens just dying to be used to chat up my past.

Instead, I let what’s in front of my nose take up all of my attention. Most often work or recovering from it. Sure the occasional anomaly (like Tami) gets me in touch or out to eat, but sadly these are not sustained. I fall off the wagon of regular communication. Weekends pass by with the best intentions to get caught up on correspondences to no avail.

Instead, I’m the weirdfish who’s great in person, but one circle around the bowl and I’m once again surprised by the plastic castle, no remembrance of tanks past. (ignoring all of the goldfish research I’ve done lately saying they are smarter than that.)

That’s one of my reasons to keep writing and snapping pictures lately. I just want to prove to myself that I can do it. Show some longevity in something. There’s no finish line, just the practice.

I’m not good at blogging.

It’s a struggle for me to make the time to write something here. Regardless, I’m trying to type put something – anything- each day. Even if it means falling asleep as I thumb away on my phone. Typos and all, it’s a quick record of what’s going on in my life, not necessarily meaningful content. I’m approaching this right now as a practice. A daily devotion to take a moment to reflect and perhaps create.

Things I know am good at make me sound like a 3 year-old. I know I like sleeping, eating and pooping. Unlike a toddler, I enjoy being active, knitting, and spending time trying new things.

Forgive me if posts end up being repetitious meditations on the same things. That’s just life.

Today was sleeping in with Janie, Sightglass Coffee, reknitting a toe, working at Tsunami Tsynchro fundraiser watershow, the pictured kimchi on a vegan hotdog from the underground market, C’s Canadian Flickr friends, more coffee and a new local Ethiopian restaurant that recently opened. Shiro? For sure! And more knitting.

A very full day that now demands rest.

Welcome to the best I could do.

This was the most productive bit of my day. I’m just ready for this project to be launched so I can move on. It is what it is.

Technically this post falls outside of the 24-hour period that is Friday, but I am just heading to bed now at 1:09 am.

I’m counting it as good.

Again, with the late night and not clearly developed thoughts. There’s just not much of note going on ’round these parts. Not in my daily life. Not to record and remember.

The one experience that occurred was sharing an elevator with a chef or cook from the restaurant in the building and the giant buckets of freshly made lobster bisque on his cart. Friendly words were exchanged. It was a lot of bisque. That’s all.

What I have to share is a link to an essay I came across on Twitter from Jad of RadioLab fame at WNYC. A powerful story of a mother loving her daughter so hard and the ugliness of life’s relentless challenges. It’s not about pity or using this to gain perspective. It’s beautiful words and the author’s truth. I hope you enjoy: For Jessica.

I gotta start earlier than 11pm if I want to ever find happiness or get a slightly considered post up here each day. I also gotta remember to take pictures when I’m in parts of SF I’ve never visited before.

Tonight, that was behind Levis Plaza on Sansome. 6:00pm meeting at the agency’s office to discuss a change order and what was and was not within scope. Riveting, believe you me.

Note to self: you have a phone with a camera. Use it. You’re typing this on it right now. Pull it out and shoot something outside of the apartment.

Time to start reading.

I am.

I felt “off” riding home from work. Felt, not fell.

Muscles were weak, chilled to the bone, sore throat. Took a nap with Janie until dinner. Food made me feel slightly better, but it’s going to be a mellow night. Thus, not much to share.

We’ll see what tomorrow brings.

(did you get the “I am under the weather” title?)

I woke up this morning with a stiff, aching thumb. I’m sure it’s from last night’s knitting—a casualty of 2.0mm needles and yarn intended to be on slightly bigger needles. (what can I say? I like a dense gauge in my socks.)

It’s not like I’ve been overdoing it, rather underdoing it, so that an evening’s work has me off my game. I’m just not hitting the wool as often as I used to. As I’m “getting back into shape,” I expect there may be a few mornings of exhausted digits.

Why so little needle action? It hasn’t been a drought (although there have been days at a time where it’s just work, dinner and bed). More like intense bursts.

There’s not too much I can share at this time, but once they are released into the wide world, i.e. published, I’ll be popping them up here. Instead of regular, casual knitting, it’s been purpose-driven completion. Great stuff, if I say so myself.

I look forward to some meandering, non-deadline, non-thinking knit time later this summer. That’s still a garment or two away. Until then, it’s time to test my thumb. I don’t want to take a night off, especially as there’s a matching partner that hasn’t even been begun.

The life of a tortured artist? Nope, just a very grateful-to-be-creating guy with a funky finger.

This was supposed to be an entry yesterday, but my body just couldn’t stay awake long enough to make it happen. We were up by 5am, so along with coffee, I set about organizing the coat closet. Next, it was the yarn and books and paper piles. Laundry and unpacking. All this before 8am! I thought this jet lag thing was going to turn into a mighty productive thing.

We both took the day off from work, knowing that our minds wouldn’t be their sharpest. Besides, there was a very important appointment at 9—picking up Janie Sparkles! She stayed with a friend from my former job, so it turned into a bit of a how’s-it-going lovefest. Having only four days at the new job under my belt, I had little to report, so we talked about Paris. Thanks to the magic of the interwebs, anyone who wanted to could follow along, so there were lots of food questions.

After a very Bay-Areian breakfast of huevos rancheros, it was back across the thankfully-reopened Bay Bridge. Errands and a latte run, more loads of laundry and a peek into work email, catching up on TiVo trash tv and knitting—it was everything I couldn’t do in France. I valliantly struggled to stay awake through a simple dinner of penne, pesto and steamed brocolli, snuggling with the dearly-missed doggy.

Until 8-ish.

Which is why I’ve been up since 2:48am. I’m forcing myself to stay in bed until at least 5. Then it’s getting ready for work and finishing off the things I thought would all be completed yesterday.

At least I can hear two happy snorers next to me. I hope I can join them.