Eight twenty five.
I walked to the store this morning without a mask, where Cathy cashiered and Doug was doing something electronic item by item on the shelves. I saw about a half dozen kids from the middle school. One of them bought an energy drink and something else using nothing but quarters, dimes, and nickels, so Cathy had to count it all, scowling with concentration. Later he rode his bicycle down to the corner of N Park to cross Maxwell Road; luckily the traffic stopped for him and he made it over safely. Behind me in line were about four other people waiting patiently. I noticed that no one showed an excess of joy or cheerfulness today, but then it’s Monday, the return to the business week. Last night I listened to the Chili Peppers doing One Hot Minute while I thought about the life of rock and roll and addiction, and what was the purpose of my still playing the bass guitar when I’m sober. Also I was pondering behaviorism as opposed to my old libertarian views: maybe determinism makes more sense, but the idealist in me still holds onto freedom. I’d rather not believe like a fatalist. It’s not a matter of what will be will be, or of surrender to what’s going to happen. I don’t know; can we change our genetic blueprint and tailor our lives as we like? The sky is white again and they say it will rain today, but no prediction is ever accurate one hundred percent. So, for today I ignore scientific certainty.