Monday. Awoke at a quarter past six, still too early, but OK I guess, and so listened to Democracy Now!, getting up finally at seven-thirty to drive to breakfast on another overcast morning, arriving to enter the blocked off dining area and settle in at my table with the papers. Life in the fast lane.

Another two strips of bacon, scrambled eggs, country potatoes, toast, fruit cup and coffee breakfast, finishing up at a quarter after nine and setting out for the car, pulling out in traffic just as the phone rang. OK, pulled over to the curb and answered the phone, as the number matched the Protime test call I'd gotten yesterday, and he said he was running early and would arrive at my apartment in five minutes. OK, said I was on my way home as well, I'd meet him in five minutes.

He pulled up just as I was driving into the garage and so snapped a quick selfie, opened the apartment house front door as he was leaving his car carrying the Protime testing kit I remembered using back when I was taking my own readings at home. The result came in at the top of the range, so best to have had this done.

Up to finish yesterday's entry and post, getting a call later from the cardiologist's office saying yes, I was at the high end of the spectrum, please increase your consumption of greens. Greens. As in lettuce, string beans and peas, all of which you buy at a grocery store, something I've been avoiding going to when the shelter-in-place or you'll die routine came into play.

You're whinging.

More bitching. We'll track down some greens. Maybe finish off all those frozen vegetables I've had sitting in the freezer. Some of them I recall are green. Were once green, anyway, before the packaged food industry got them in their clutches.

Later. Half listened to the various news programs, but otherwise spent most of the afternoon watching a series on the tablet. This shelter-in-place thing, if it lasts as long as some are saying, is not going to get any easier as time goes along.

Evening. Watched an episode of Father Brown at eight. The usual over the top silliness for forty-five minutes before heading for bed. Enough of this for the night.