Sunday. I watched a bunch of stuff on the tablet last night, turned out the lights before eleven, but not all that much before eleven, and got a very uneven night's sleep. Kept rolling over and looking at the clock tick off through the hours. Awoke at six, got up and out the door without effort (feeling just fine, thank you), found the restaurant dark at six-thirty and so drove on to the supermarket to buy provisions and such for today's Superbowl.

Returning, the restaurant was open (but just barely, someone had indeed slept in late) and so all was well. Had breakfast and drove home, still feeling just fine after what I would have to call a bad night's sleep. All this after yesterday morning when the mind was on stun, the ambition gone and the energy needed to write yesterday's babble missing. I have no idea of why yesterday and not today, but I'm not complaining. Superbowl Sunday. Even those of us who haven't been following the game have an excuse to kick back and watch over a glass or two (or three) of sake.

Later. Weird. Good energy, yes, but up and actually using it to do this and that, things I've been avoiding since birth. What's going on? Why now? And how? Screw it, we'll let it play out without grousing. Life in the fast lane. I could get used to it.

The Superbowl is playing on channel eleven and it took an interesting placement of the rabbit ears to bring in the signal: lying flat on its face with a picture frame section propping it up on a side. You live, you learn. Channel eleven, NBC, we'll watch the game and play along as we're able on guitar.

Evening. A good game right up until those last twenty seconds. Why that pass instead of a run? Even I, who haven't been following the game, was wondering. Of course, had the pass worked, the coach or whoever called the thing would be termed a genius, but it's game day, we've had three glasses of sake and it's time for bed.