Sunday. Tired, last night, and so lights out well before ten to awaken at six-fifteen again, getting up without any real effort to drive to breakfast and wait five minutes for the waitress to arrive. They're opening at eight tomorrow morning, but no complaints, wasn't sure they'd be open at all.

The crab-cake, country potatoes, toast, fruit cup and coffee for breakfast, only one other person in the dining room for the two hours I spent over the papers. Still, lost in the reading, doesn't really matter one way or another.

Overcast, as they were forecasting, they're saying sun later today. A single picture and then a drive home to think about what I'm going to do with this thing now that it's the end of the year. Some thoughts of a change, but just some thoughts, no real intuition as to what I might make in the way of changes. If I make changes.

Babble.

Babble.

Later. A late morning and afternoon of watching a football game (the 49ers over the Rams) and relearning why I can't find anything else to watch on a Sunday afternoon, but not a bad afternoon for all that. Thought about taking another dose of the pain meds around one, thinking it would knock the sinuses down, but decided they'd probably shape up on their own and they did. Same old question on these meds: do they really work? Do I need to take them at all?

So?

Maybe find out. A New Year's resolution. Stop them for a week, something I've done in the past. He said with a straight face.

He babbled hopelessly on is more like it.

Evening. An up and down day, even though I haven't stressed it. Finished a series on the tablet after many starts and stops over the last two weeks, waiting to see what the Adam Dalgleish Mystery was about, remembering as it started I'd seen it before and hadn't been able to wade through it then and so to bed. At eight-thirty, feeling a little wobbly. To bed at eight-thirty with the lights out on a New Year's Eve? Seems to be.