I'd posted yesterday's entry having given up on the edit - no excuses, I'm obviously oblivious to embarrassment - when I noticed I'd not checked the entry from the day before for broken links. I'd not posted two of the pictures. Didn't check? Part of the routine, I always check, but not yesterday morning. Hi, ho. So we go. It happens.

Looks like a nice sunny day after yesterday's overcast. I guess we'll do a walk over to the farmers market for starters and otherwise see what happens.

Later. Over to the lake and on to the farmers market, skirting around the edge and then heading on to Lakeshore, thinking I'd go by the bagel shop, see if sitting front at a table made sense. All the tables were taken and I wasn't hungry, so a look through the card shop before heading back to have a scoop of ice cream at the frozen yogurt place (warm in there, cold outside) and then on through the farmers market again, the lone banjo player pretty good.

The Capoeira people had been setting up when I was starting out and they'd finished assembling and were dancing when I returned, so one or two pictures without really stopping. I don't stay and work them enough, but that's another subject.

Back to the apartment more clear headed, the eyes better able to focus. Nothing too far off, but something we've had to put up with since I can remember. We'll arrange to see the ophthalmologist for a yearly checkup next month.

A nap. Not much of a nap, but these last two nights of less than good sleep seem to have caught up.

Later still. Hungry, finally walking over to the burger drive-in to bring home a steak sandwich, a picture to take a picture. Good. Still two pounds under this morning. Some days you're hungry and you eat and then you eat some more, some days you're inexplicably not hungry even when you think you should be and so you don't.

Not a bad afternoon, the head clearer spent watching the two Seattle detectives on the trail of Rosie's killer, still finding everyone from the mayor on down to the police lieutenant in charge actively blocking their progress.

Oh, and the Indians in this thing are behaving badly. The casino Indians, the regular non-politically connected Indians aiding in the chase and not on the warpath.

“...on the warpath.”? Are we drifting off a P.C. path here?

Everyone in this series - men, women, children - has issues.

Evening. And so all twenty-six forty-five minute episodes are finally done, the culprit, at the very last minute, has been apprehended and I've seen enough angst and perfidy for the rest of the year. And maybe next year. And it turns out there's another season, another case of a dead girl and I'll just, you know, let it sleep for the while. I'm not ready for another of these. For the while.