Thursday. An uneven night in the sense it seemed to take a fair amount of time to get to sleep after lights out not long after nine, awakening then at five-thirty, early, but up easily enough to head out walking to breakfast, arriving by seven, the restaurant open.

The avocado and (light on the) cheese omelet, country potatoes, toast, fruit cup and coffee for breakfast, the papers full of the usual Trump this, Trump that, the world is in turmoil stuff, to finish up by a quarter to nine and set out for home, getting a message on the camera screen saying the battery needed recharging when I tried to take a picture. No pictures walking home. Made for a somewhat faster trip.

Home to find yesterday's entry in bad shape: run on sentences, misspellings and typos, more than enough to go around. Or fail a beginner's English class. How spacey am I in the mornings? The afternoons are usually shot, but the mornings too?

Started the laundry. The usual dragging of the heels, but once started it was easy, way too easy to have been fighting it. Of course this seems always the case and not just laundry, of course, but most of what I once thought of doing without hassle in this life, laundry the exception.

That seems a little grim.

Just babble. The mood is good, it's just the head is fuzzy and it tends to encourage running on at the mouth.

Later. Laundry folded and hung by noon, we're set for another three weeks. Watched the last two episodes of that seventy episode The Rise of Phoenixes in which all but two or three (or maybe four) of the main characters were still left alive when it was finished. The drive to achieve power seems to leave few survivors, but then that's hardly a revelation. The series has its ups and downs, but it was indeed interesting, all seventy episodes, although I found it best to watch it a few episodes at a time over a period of months.

Evening. Started an episode of Vera at eight and made it through the first forty minutes before I decided I really couldn't make out what they were saying through their accents and, I suspect, the fact my ears aren't as sharp as they once were anymore and so headed for bed before nine. A decent day. More photographs processed, the Women's March section is well underway. Did some cleaning in the bathroom and read a couple of pieces in the New Yorker that had arrived in the mail, one of particular interest in the fate of the current players and state of journalism these days.