Friday. A somewhat uneven, but decent night's sleep. I think. Up at six-fifteen to take the blood pressure and find it even better than it was first thing yesterday morning. No complaints. Back to bed to listen to the rest of Democracy Now!, to get up at seven and walk to breakfast under clear skies, arriving to enter the indoor dining area and settle in at my table with but two papers, the delivery man having left two copies of the Chronicle and no New York Times. OK, no Times, but why the two Chronicles?

The single pork chop, scrambled eggs, country potatoes, toast, fruit cup and coffee, finishing up around nine to set out for home under a bright sun, a little voice wondering now and again if I was going to be running to the bathroom as I approached the apartment. Suspicious, we are.

Home to take the selfie in the lobby, take the blood pressure and find it every bit as low as it had been first thing this morning. Hmm. On to the bathroom when the body decided to send a message along the lines of “go now or suffer some grief” right after taking the blood pressure, then to the computer to finish yesterday's entry, post, process the morning pictures and start here after eleven.

Later. A nap. Tired. From about twelve forty-five to two, getting up to listen to the news on television as I went through the books in the living room in preparation for the move. Things are actually getting done, I just have to put a bit more pressure on.

Evening. Blood pressure still running well within bounds. Lights out just after nine, but listened to the radio longer than I should have if I was really interested in getting to sleep before eleven. Writing this Saturday morning and so, as always, all the nights before are running together jumbled in my mind.