Monday. Lights out by ten by the time all was said and done to get an uneven, but not altogether bad night's sleep, awakening at six-fifteen to get up and get ready for breakfast. Picking up a tin can I was planning on dumping in the trash heading out to breakfast, I managed to slice a section of my right index finger and, in binding it up (it was very shallow, but maybe an inch long and a third of an inch wide) I threw my habitual get ready for breakfast routine far enough out of whack to forget to bring the phone or reading glasses.

Realized I forgotten the glasses as I sat down at the table after driving (felt a little light headed for a minute or two after cutting the finger and decided driving would be the more sensible option) and so read through the papers without them. I read a little slower than with them, believe me, but still, read what I wanted. I can always check their web sites to see if I missed one or two I considered important.

Still, the finger has been washed and re-bandaged, doesn't hurt, isn't bleeding and so we'll assume it won't need stitches and that it's clean. Infection is not our friend and we'll continue watching.

Had the avocado and (light on the) cheese omelet, country potatoes, toast, fruit cup and coffee for breakfast, took but one picture when heading to the car and now, on what looks to be a sunny Monday, we have another day and week ahead. Finding that old humor column yesterday has set my head to looking for some other mementos of the period, let's see if I actually do anything today to find them.

Later. Still easy to drift off into our own thoughts and discover we've made some silly mistake like forgetting the reading glasses. Preparing spaghetti, for example, thinking of other things to find we skipped too far ahead in the cooking sequence. Preparing to drain the cooked pasts when we hadn't added it to the boiling water yet. Not something I've done before and hope won't happen in the future.

Watched more of a Netflix series on the tablet and never got around to sticking my head outside the door. Or, for that matter, thinking to sticking my head outside the door. Still, not a bad day. No regrets.

Evening. Skipped the Father Brown at seven and went to bed.