Monday. To bed early enough, some futzing around on the tablet, but not for very long and so to sleep. Good sleep? Bad sleep? Hard to say, but I slept in after the alarm for a good half hour or so and didn't/don't regret it. Off to breakfast on another overcast morning with a clear sky on the way later today. Hey.
The bottoms of the feet are no longer aching the way they were yesterday after my outing when I take the weight off by lying down or putting them up on the table as I sit at the computer. A sign I've been out on an overly long walk? This is not new and, I suspect, isn't going away any time soon.
The knee remains much better, even my waitress remarked I looked “much better” at breakfast this morning, but the bottoms of the feet did drift into their ouch! mode yesterday when I returned from the mural opening. I say I get in a fair amount of walking, but maybe I don't and, maybe, this getting older causes one's tootsies to crap out.
Is it really that bad?
More annoying than “bad”. New. Different.
Later. And so the day rolls along. Tired. Nothing else really to complain about, but tiredness of a kind that doesn't let you sleep. Doze at bit, but not sleep. I keep remembering my grandmother's comments when I was very young, how my grandfather was feeling “tired” back when. Some kind of old guy tired, comes with the territory, or is it something that can be, um, “cured”? Silly little thoughts that spin around like tops on a turbid afternoon.
Still, a nice day. No thought to go anywhere, really, but the usual morning walk along the construction site to take the standard set of photographs. The exposure doesn't seem right and I'm thinking of taking two cameras tomorrow, see if one manages better than the other. There are many things you can do to set a camera up and I've done, well, none of them.
Other than that I've managed to avoid most of the various news programs, too much stuff I've heard before, too much distrust in what I'm hearing. Sad to hear about Robin Williams, probably could have left hearing about that for much later. Sixty-three. Lived in Marin. Tiburon. Puts your own minor complaints into context.
It's now approaching five. I've had another spaghetti with clam sauce dinner, the weight still holding at about one fifty-three. Skinny without feeling skinny. I've looked at a couple of Netflix and Amazon videos, bailed on both of them. I wonder if that's now the norm.
Evening. Better this evening, as feeling better in the evenings after a slow day seems to be the norm. Tired during the day if I'm going to be tired at all, better as we get into an evening. Done this before, said this before many, many times.
Nothing on television, we'll skip trying to watch anything on the tablet later in bed in case the news story I read some time ago about tablet viewing screwing up your sleep turns out to be true.
All of which means?
I'm running out of things I once liked to do. A slide into depression? Could be, but a light weight one, I'd say. Am I simply avoiding obvious things to do, stuff I've successfully avoided in the past, but have gotten to the point I need to do them now? I could argue both sides, but seem to favor the side that requires the least energy to follow through.