Monday. To sleep relatively early, I seem to remember, to awaken just after five, blink (twice this time), and awaken then at ten minutes after six to get up and get ready to walk to breakfast on another dark and cold morning, arriving before seven to find the restaurant open with people inside. Settle in with the papers, still a bit cold, even under all the various layers of clothing.

Another two strips of bacon, scrambled eggs, country potatoes, toast, fruit cup and coffee for breakfast, coming in less than a pound under the target weight on the scale this morning, finishing up early just before eight-thirty and walking home taking the usual series of pictures, still cold. Another bicycle rider waiting at the light under the 580 Overpass, two scooters on the sidewalk beside the lake and a perfectly miserable picture in the apartment house lobby, three of them actually, none of them centered, properly exposed or focused.

Kind of like all of your selfies, wouldn't you admit?

Cold arriving home and not wanting to spend the time to get it right, I guess.

Later. An afternoon watching something called Giri/Haji (Duty/Shame) on the tablet that makes no sense, but the characters are so far off the wall it seems to have kept my interest. Well, for an hour at a time. Didn't go out and watched the usual stuff on the news feeling a bit, well, trapped.

What does that mean?

Hard to say. Stopped writing this with the morning's entry, writing this tomorrow morning, the memory hazy.

Evening. In bed again by eight, more tablet, lights out just after nine. Mondays one way or another live up to their reputation, working or retired.