I kept looking at songwriting credits, doing mild double takes at listed names: oh, that’s who got that song in that album; oh, I didn’t know those two had a hand in that song I couldn’t stop playing two years ago. An old impulse on an ending day that still felt in between or on the brink of things.

Piecing together bits of attention from slipstream senses of presence, and regretting once again not taking more downtime during what looks like the last sort of normal weekend before the next big upcoming change. Also: contemplating whether that Oscar Wilde quote was ideally used in a signoff note.

A breather, with a lot of things sitting in chairs and trying not to squint at different charts and patterns and trying to read letters and faces and frames. Then a thoughtful half hour dwelling on my plans, turning over their distance from my feelings, and an evening in, archiving ancient passwords.

Came back to a spot I’d last visited just over thirteen years ago, and sang along under my breath to a TV playing “The Wiz” while a kind and talented woman business-casualed my Afro for next week’s return to office. Then got to attend my own funeral via a video chat send-off from coworkers.

Got some sun in after a pre-lunch meeting about eldritch horrors and copyright infractions, and a lazy lap around the plaza before I found a coast range lizard skittering along the cool concrete edge that sunlight hadn’t yet swung around and turned grill-hot. He didn’t stick around, so neither did I.

So satisfying to have a couple of songs occur to you to tinker at karaoke and try them on, and then belt them out when you get a chance to drop your jaw and let fly. The point of doing is the joy of being in the moment with the music: neither fidelity, nor reproduction, nor perfection, but presence.

Little lights, glowing luminaries hanging in the western sky when I know they’re going to be out there, and all I have to do is lean my head out the window, and they help take my mind off today’s sad story that my coworkers reported and I helped out with about a tragic episode for an Oakland family.

Ran around, but slowly, and re-upped on several things I enjoy very much, like certain makes and models of on-sale chocolate, searching and random and surprisingly thoughtful conversation with a stranger, new clothes, musical practice and a tentative karaoke plan with a buddy, exercise and hunches.

After less sleep than I would’ve liked, a cold start meant hauling broken bed frame remnants down to dumpsters set up by the city public works department, but also a delightful pupusa run by a local grocery store before book club. Then tonight’s extra work shift started baggy, then turned too tight.

Took it easy after topping off and beating it home right before things were briefly void of course. After lunch, a nap, exercise, sweeping up and evidence of a distant email came a long talk with the maternal unit figuring out fritzy gadgets and a short talk with A. about a city public works visit.