Hounded by a headache I cannot chase. Sat in Starbucks tonight trying to read E. Nesbit's horror story, "Man-Size in Marble," but could not read at all. Splitting pain. Nesbit will turn up in my Louisa May Alcott piece which I must compose this week for The Washington Post.
It's raining--misting--outside, the air is cool but not cold, there is less of a bite than a reminding nip, and the first fallen leaves swirl underfoot on the pavement in little half-circles before dropping back to ground. I am anhedonic these days and enjoy nothing, but I can feel this weather, ponder it, place it in my future, see how I would love and enjoy it again.
Aretha Franklin's cover of "The Weight" came on at Starbucks. I think it's my favorite performance of hers. Do you hear how flat out tough it is? It's not a song that you'd think could sound tough, but she gives it this bluesy, junkyard swagger, while keeping it full of Southern earth, American rurality, you might say. Duane Allman is so good, too.
This is my autumn nighttime Starbucks garb. A droopy, stretched out Gloucester sweatshirt, and sweatpants two sizes too big, which literally fall down unless I roll them over three times or hold them up while I walk. Doesn't that dude Sneed in the Disney version of Peter Pan have to hold up his pants? So I'm like him, without the rotundity and gut. One of the effects of not drinking is that I made my face rectangular-shaped; before it was round. You can have a round face and not have a fat face. But I like being more rectangular, for me personally.
This has a nice autumn vibe to it. It's Orson Welles playing Dr. Moriarty in a 1954 radio production of "The Final Problem," with John Gielgud and Ralph Richardson. Kind of not a bad cast, right?
I did return to Zulu warrior status today--climbed the Monument five straight times. I'm back. Whatever settled into my lungs in late July, lasting for weeks thereafter, has been vanquished. I had to start back over, basically, but it took me about a week to get up to five climbs, which was faster than I expected. I learned the trick of it: you do it once a day--no more--for several days. Five days, six days. Then you can add on from that foundation, which is quite doable.
Do the Red Sox have a chance tonight? I'm going to alter my prediction a little. David Price has cost this team what he is going to cost it. A problem that is nearly as significant is Mookie Betts, who is proving himself to me as a guy who cannot perform when it counts. If he plays at his regular season MVP level, the Sox will win. If not, not.
I don't know why, but I read some Poe obituaries over the long weekend. God, please don't let me end up like Baudelaire and Poe.