Sunday. To sleep before eleven after watching Maria Wern on the tablet, awake and up at seven or soon after, feeling more than a bit slow and sleepy. Getting into bed the bottoms of the feet had been aching, so my running around yesterday may have taken something of a toll. (Makes me wonder if I should test another pair of shoes, something with laces, these feet have been aching as often as not now for the last few years when I crawl get into bed.)

Anyway, thoughts of running a blood sugar test as I was preparing to leave, decided I was running late and didn't have the time (or patience). I'd run one last night at ten thirty-five about two hours or so after having eaten, and it was 79. Low on the scale, but within range. I think. Gets in the way, thinking about this crap, but no way around it. You can talk yourself into the hospital (it said somewhere in a recent article). We'll know more after we see the doctor tomorrow.

Breakfast was good, a long session over the Sunday papers, back now thinking nap. It's totally overcast, but they're saying as high as seventy later. I'm still thinking of another shot at J-Pop, have no hope the crowds will be any less, but I'm either too old to go out and take pictures or I'm not. Only one way to find out.

Later. A bit of concern. A blood sugar reading of 48 at one twenty-five this afternoon. I'd had a large breakfast: fruit, a pork chop, country potatoes, eggs over medium and coffee, some Pad Thai noodles and cereal around noon and now, after the reading I ate a bunch of raisins, cottage cheese and spaghetti with clam sauce. A “dry mouth“ and a kind of funky feeling had come on some time beforehand. A reading now of eighty-five at two-oh-five. Hmm. Much to discuss (in my alloted fifteen minutes) with the doctor tomorrow.

And so?

Some ice cream, perhaps, stock up on items that will give an immediate shot of sugar when required. Those raisins tasted sweet, they say pasta raises the blood sugar, but we'll know more tomorrow. Mumble.

I did post the J-Pop pictures. No way I wanted to go there for a second day, this day has (as said) has been more than funky enough with the tell-tale dry mouth and the rest. I just wish I knew what tale the mouth would tell if I could but translate. Mumble.

Later still. Another blood sugar reading at two forty-five, this time it was forty-six and so a quick walk to the 7-11 look-alike for various nefarious not to be consumed more than once or twice in a life items: ice cream, Doritos, bean dip and Necco wafers (two rolls), much of which was consumed when I returned to the apartment and, after which, the stomach started rumbling and aching. I don't blame it.

An hour later another reading to see what all that eating had done: one ninety-one. OK, we're starting to get the idea. We don't have to go totally overboard in order to keep the sugar up. Which is good as eating any more of that stuff would kill me. Still, another reading of seventy-two some time after to see if it was still up there. Is seventy-two good or bad in context? I have no idea.

Evening. Tired, whatever the blood sugar. I'm suspecting I've been goofing off on the daily walking and the outing on Saturday pooped me out. As good a reason as any when you don't really know.

There's a Johan Falk episode at nine that I'll probably take a look at on the tablet when I get to bed, an Endeavour, one of the young Detective Morse series that I'm sometimes able to watch on PBS, but I suspect I'll blow the lot of them off and opt for sleep. Beep. See if we can't get the engine running again on regular next week.