Monday. Lights out last night at ten as described, but taking my time in getting to sleep. I keep thinking, as I'm lying there, that sleep just doesn't come, although I could simply be muddled and I am sleeping, but lightly, waking up in little short stretches that seem to last on and on. I do glance at the clock from time to time and the readings get later and later. Probably not good, but up without issue at the alarm.

Breakfast and back. A good breakfast on a swirly foggy morning, the real stuff right down and around on the ground. A haircut appointment this morning at ten. We'll get a proper good clipping. The hair is there, but it takes its own form and doesn't mind the brush no matter how long or how many times I whack at it in the mirror. But so what? We pay attention, but not all that much.

Later. The haircut appointment was not at ten. It was at eleven and, returning to look at my calendar, something I'd checked more than once before setting out, it said eleven. Very clearly written: eleven. So a message on the barber's phone before heading up the stairs for coffee and a cinnamon bun at at table in front of the bagel shop to wait, a call from her to say the appointment was at eleven, see you at eleven. A walk to the Rotunda building for a raspberry shortbread cookie and another coffee before finally heading to the appointment.

And it was a little more complicated than that. She didn't mention she was calling me from the shop when I was assuming she was calling from home, not planning on arriving until eleven and well, I could have simply descended the stairs and started forty-five minutes earlier than we eventually did, but life is like that I've found. Lately, anyway. Eleven was indeed written on my calendar in large clear numbers. Welcome to the seventies.

A walk with shorter hair to the ATM on Broadway and then a bus home, catching it around the corner on Grand, no thought to take pictures at the construction site as I'd started to feel crappy, the usual late morning sinus stuff. A two hour nap and life started again.

Over to the construction site to shoot today's progress. The third floor is coming together and I wonder how much longer I'll be able to get visual access. Maybe wrap up the last six months of construction in a single section of twenty or so pictures. Maybe for the best.

A steak sandwich from the drive-in across from the construction site. Haven't had one in a while. Hungry. Feel better for it. I think.

Evening. Democracy Now at five-thirty, a Death In Paradise at seven and then perhaps Charlie Rose at eight if he's interviewing someone of interest. No tablet tonight. A dose of the pain meds, as the sinuses are acting up again and then to bed. Here in Oakland.