Monday. The knee ached quite badly last night and well into the early morning, zoning out finally and allowing me to get to sleep. Up at eight, the knee functioning, but barely. Much better than yesterday morning, so that's good, and going to breakfast I was able to find a parking space right in front of the restaurant. Still the crippled old man walk. Shuffle, really, but things seem to be coming together. Slowly, slowly, but we'll take all this as progress.
Later. Three in the afternoon. Two hour or so naps while listening to the radio, the naps possible, I assume, because of the six or less hours of sleep I got last night, aching knee and that. The BBC on half the various available PBS stations obsessed with the Iceland volcano nobody can pronounce. Did you know they've grounded airplanes in Europe? I thought you might. So many interesting things to learn listening to the news half asleep.
Another big breakfast, by the way, as I didn't eat much other than breakfast yesterday, but I'm pretty sure I'll make a run down to the Seven-Eleven look alike later rather than toughing it out until tomorrow. Why? Well, cat food. I feel like a wind up juggler doll down to his last ball, flipping it up and catching it, flipping it up and catching it. The robot reduced to his lowest quantum state. Flip. Flip.
Flippant. Mentally deficient.
I'm surprised I have the energy to sit and type, let alone write.
Later still. It's evening. To bed. Better luck tomorrow.