I did stay up to see how the Maigret turned out last night and so got to bed at close to eleven, sleep coming finally, but on its own terms and schedule. Up after turning off the alarm to get in another forty-five minutes sleep, but off to breakfast and back without particular effort. The day looks as if it will be nice, sun now coming through the clouds.

Later. A bus downtown to pick up a prescription that's been on reorder now for a week. Turned out there was still no word from the doctor and so they'll send him another fax. A walk to the City Center (yes, it's still there) to buy a packet of M&M's, small, but still more than I wanted to eat before taking another bus back to the morning café for coffee and a garden salad. Not bad. The day. The garden salad.

A walk back to the apartment to go through the one or two pictures I took along the lake. There've been two pairs of Mallards hanging out at this end of the lake, rare compared to the other exotic ducks (to my limited experience) that proliferate, these being the first ducklings I've seen of the season. Spring has sprung. No other ducklings or goslings yet, but duck (and goose) season is obviously in the offing. Good luck little ducks, I understand life is not altogether easy on your rung of the food chain ladder.

Later still. It's been a week since I had the home blood test lesson in Palo Alto, so I did one on my own for the first time today (you do them weekly) and managed to screw it up. The little spring loaded needle device didn't draw all that much blood and I got the timing wrong and, well, I screwed up. I'll do another tomorrow. I can see why they make such an effort to train people on how to use them. If I can screw this particular pooch with a clear head, I wonder how other (older folks) make out.

You do go on and on with this old folks shtick.

Hey, it's a first time, this growing into decades I've only occasionally imagined, the experience is novel. Novel, complicated and weird interesting, at least during times when the head is clear.

Evening. I skipped the Don Matteo at six and watched the Korean spy (North versus South versus all good and evil incarnate) shoot 'em up for reasons that probably have to do with some viral mental deterioration on my part and followed it by watching another Korean soap even more soapy and inexplicable. No half ways for we, it seems, in our strange choices of entertainment.

That's a little much.

There's obviously something about them, some subconscious hook that would explain itself to me if I had the perspective to figure it out. Or then again, maybe I like saccharine Korean soaps, but can't watch the saccharine Italian Don Mateo detective soaps, because..., well because. If I knew I'd say. At least the head is clear, the day had been a good day and there's still some decent evening ahead.